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CENTENARY  EDITION 
VOLUME  XIII. 


LUCIEN  DE  RUBEMPRÉ 
THE  DUCHESSE  DE  LANGEAIS 


M>ttnz$  from  3&ari£ian  %ifz 


LA  COMÉDIE  HUMAINE 

OF 

HONORÉ  DE  BALZAC 

TRANSLATED  BY 

KATHARINE  PRESCO TT  WORMELEY 

LUCIEN  DE  RUBE  MP  RÉ 
THE  DUCHESSE  DE  LANGEAIS 

JUlustratfï  6s 
GEORGES  CAIN 

AND 

EDWARD  PICARD 


BOSTON 
LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND  COMPANY 

I9I5 


Copyright,  1895,  1896, 
By  Roberts  Brothers. 

All  rights  reserved. 


J.  Pakkhill  &  Co.,  Boston,  U.S.A. 


V<9 

W3 

S  te 

To  His  Highness  Prince  Alfonso  Seraphino 
di  Porcia. 

Let  me  place  your  name  at  the  head  of  a  work  which  is 
essentially  Parisian,  although  I  thought  it  out  while  staying 
with  you  lately.  What  can  be  more  natural  than  to  offer  you 
the  flowers  of  rhetoric  which  budded  in  your  garden,  watered 
with  regrets  which  taught  me  the  meaning  of  nostalgia,  but 
which  you  softened  as  we  wandered  about  the  hoschetti  beneath 
those  elms  that  recalled  to  me  the  Champs  Élysées?  Perhaps 
I  shall  thus  atone  for  the  crime  of  thinking  of  Paris  beneath 
the  shadow  of  the  Duomo,  and  of  our  muddy  streets  on  the 
clean  and  elegant  pavements  of  the  Porta  Penza.  When  I 
have  certain  books  to  publish  which  I  hope  to  dedicate  to 
Milanese  friends,  I  shall  have  the  pleasure  of  selecting  names 
already  dear  to  your  old  Italian  romancers  among  those  friends 
whom  I  love,  and  to  whose  remembrance  I  beg  you  to  recall 

Your  sincerely  affectionate 

DE  BALZAC. 


1.51  °144 


CONTENTS. 


ïLucien  tie  ïïuûempre. 


PAGB 

I.    The  Masked  Ball   1 

II.    La  Torpille   25 

HI.    An  Interior  as  well  known  to  Some  as 

UNKNOWN  TO  OTHERS   43 

IV.    In  which  we  learn  how  much  of  a  Priest 
there  was  in  the  abbé*  don  carlos 

Herrera   62 

V.    Two  Watch-dogs   77 

VI.  An  Abyss  opens  beneath  Esther's  feet  89 

VII.  The  Hôtel  de  Grandlieu   106 

Vin.    False  Debts,  False  Notes,  and  a  Craven 

Heart   123 

IX,    A  Hundred  Thousand  Francs  invested 

m  Asia   134 

X,    Profit  and  Loss   152 

XI.    Abdication   162 

XII.    Esther  reappears  on  the   Surface  of 

Paris   172 

XIII.    Things  that  may  be  Suffered  on  the 

Threshold  of  a  Door   185 


x  Lucien  de  Rubemprê. 

PAGE 

XIV.    One  of  Corentin's  many  Mouse-traps  .  198 

XV.  Farewell   215 

XVI.  Whither  the  Path  of  Evil  led  .  .  .  233 
XVII.    History  Archaeological,  Biographical, 

Anecdotical,  and  Physiological,  of 

the  Palais  de  Justice   246 

XVIII.    How  the  two  Accused  Persons  took 

their  Misfortune   255 

XIX.  The    Perplexities    of    an  Examining 

Judge  and  his  Curtain  Lectures    .  264 

XX.  Asia  at  Work   281 

XXI.    Diamond  cut  Diamond  —  which  wins?   .  296 

XXII.    A  Message  from  the  Dead   314 

XXIII.  The  Judge  applies  the  Torture  .    .    .  328 

XXIV.  What  Women  can  do  in  Paris     .    .    .  341 
XXV.    How  it  ended   354 


DUCHESSE  DE  LANGEAIS  369 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


From  Photogravure  Plates  by  Goupil  çf  Co.,  Paris. 


LUCIEN  DE  EUBEMPRE 

STHER  Frontispiece 

1  "What  is  it,  my  Lucien  ?  '   she  said  nr  his 

ear"  Page  194 

Designed  by  Georges  Caet. 


THE  DUCHESSE  DE  LANGEAIS. 

They  saw  the   dead  body  of   the  duchess 
lying  ox  the  floor  55  3  71 

Designed  bv  Edwakd  Picard. 


NOTE. 


This  volume  is  abridged  by  the  omission  of  episodes, 
except  so  far  as  they  are  necessary  to  the  main  story. 

K.P.  W« 


LUCIEN  DE  RUBEMPRÉ. 


L 

THE  MASKED  BALL. 

During  the  last  Opera-ball  of  1824,  many  masks 
were  attracted  by  the  beauty  of  a  young  man  who  was 
walking  through  the  corridors  and  about  the  foyer  with 
the  air  of  a  person  in  quest  of  a  woman  whom  unfore- 
seen circumstances  had  kept  at  home.  The  secret  of 
this  gait  and  manner,  partly  lagging,  partly  hurried,  is 
known  only  to  old  women  and  loungers  emeriti.  In 
that  immense  rendezvous,  the  crowd  takes  little  note 
of  the  crowd  ;  interests  are  so  intense  that  idleness 
itself  is  preoccupied. 

The  young  dandy  was  so  absorbed  in  his  restless 
search  that  he  did  not  notice  his  own  success  ;  at 
any  rate  he  paid  no  attention  to  the  soft  words,  the 
admiring  surprise,  the  spicy  jests,  the  lively  excla- 
mations of  certain  masks.  Though  his  beauty  classed 
him  among  those  exceptional  persons  who  come  to  the 
masked  balls  of  the  Opera  in  search  of  adventure,  and 
who  seem  to  await  it  as  they  awaited  a  lucky  throw  at 
roulette  when  Frascati  was  alive,  he  seemed,  one  might 
think,  almost  vulgarly  sure  of  his  evening.  Perhaps 
he  was  the  hero  of  one  of  those  mysteries  with  three 

I 


2 


Lucien  de  Eubemprê. 


personages  which  compose,  in  truth,  the  whole  of  a 
masked  ball,  though  known  only  to  those  who  play 
their  part  in  each.  As  for  the  young  women  who  go 
to  these  balls  merely  to  say,  "I  have  seen  them,"  for 
provincials,  for  inexperienced  youths,  for  foreigners, 
the  Opera  House  on  such  nights  must  be  a  palace  of 
weariness  and  ennui.  To  them  this  black  crowd,  slow 
yet  hurried,  going,  coming,  winding,  turning,  moving 
upward  and  again  descending,  which  can  be  likened 
only  to  ants  about  their  hill,  is  no  more  comprehen- 
sible than  the  Bourse  to  a  Breton  peasant  who  never 
heard  of  the  Grand  Livre. 

With  rare  exceptions  men  in  Paris  never  mask 
themselves  ;  a  man  in  domino  is  thought  ridiculous. 
In  this  the  instinct  of  the  nation  is  shown.  Men  who 
wish  to  hide  their  happiness  can  go  to  the  ball  with- 
out coming  there,  and  masks  who  are  absolutely 
obliged  to  enter  leave  it  as  soon  as  possible.  The 
masked  men  are  jealous  husbands  who  have  come  to 
spy  upon  their  wives,  or  husbands  engaged  in  some 
love  affair  who  do  not  choose  that  their  wives  shall  spy 
upon  them,  —  two  situations  equally  open  to  ridicule. 

The  young  man  was  followed,  though  he  seemed 
not  to  know  it,  by  a  persistent  mask,  short  and  stout, 
rolling  himself  along  like  a  cask.  To  all  habitués 
of  an  Opera-ball  this  domino  was  a  civil  function- 
ary, a  broker,  a  banker,  a  notar}',  in  short  a  bour- 
geois of  some  kind,  suspecting  an  infidelity.  In  the 
highest  society  no  one  ever  goes  in  search  of  humili- 
ating testimony.  Several  masks  had  already  pointed 
out  to  one  another  with  a  laugh  this  enormous  person  ; 
others  had  apostrophized  him  ;  certain  young  men  had 


Lucien  de  Rubemprê. 


3 


twitted  hhn  ;  but  the  carriage  of  his  shoulders  and  his 
cool  bearing  showed  a  marked  disdain  for  such  random 
shots.  He  went  where  the  young  man  led  him,  as 
the  hunted  wild-boar  goes,  indifferent  to  the  balls 
that  whistle  about  his  ears  or  the  hounds  that  are 
yelping  after  him. 

Although  at  the  opening  of  a  masked  ball  pleasure 
and  anxiety  wear  the  same  livery  —  the  illustrious 
black  robe  of  Venice  —  and  all  seems  mere  confu- 
sion, the  different  circles  of  which  Parisian  society 
is  composed  soon  meet,  recognize,  and  observe  one 
another.  There  are  certain  elementary  signs  so  clear 
to  initiates  that  these  hieroglyphs  of  personal  interests 
are  as  legible  as  an  amusing  novel.  To  a  well-versed 
eye,  therefore,  this  stout  mask  could  not  possibly  be 
en  bonne  fortune,  or  he  would  infallibly  have  worn 
some  prearranged  sign,  red,  white,  or  green,  signifi- 
cant of  happiness  previously  agreed  upon.  Was  he 
in  quest  of  vengeance?  After  a  while,  seeing  how 
closely  the  mask  followed  the  man  who  was  evidently 
bent  on  a  love-affair,  certain  idlers  began  to  take 
note  of  the  beautiful  face  around  which  happiness 
had  placed  its  divine  halo. 

The  young  man  interested  the  mind  ;  as  he  went 
and  came  he  aroused  curiosity.  All  things  about  him 
gave  signs  of  a  life  of  elegance.  According  to  a  fatal 
law  of  our  epoch,  there  was  little  difference,  either 
physical  or  moral,  between  the  most  distinguished  and 
best-trained  son  of  a  duke  and  peer  and  this  fasci- 
nating young  man,  whom  poverty  had  lately  gripped 
with  her  iron  hands  in  the  midst  of  Paris.  Beauty 
and  youth  must  have  masked  in  him  profound  abysses, 


4 


Lucien  de  Rubempré. 


as  in  other  young  men  who  seek  to  play  a  part  in 
Paris  without  possessing  the  needful  means,  youths 
who  risk  all  for  all  by  sacrificing  to  the  most  courted 
god  of  the  regal  city,  —  Chance.  Nevertheless,  his 
dress  and  manners  were  irreproachable,  and  he  trod 
the  classic  precincts  of  the  foyer  as  though  he  knew 
them  well.  Who  has  not  remarked  that  there,  as  in 
all  other  zones  of  Paris,  a  habit  of  behavior  shows 
what  you  are,  what  you  do,  whence  you  come,  and 
what  you  desire? 

"Oh  !  what  a  handsome  young  man  !  We  can  turn 
round  here  and  look  at  him,"  said  a  mask  whom  any 
habitué  would  have  recognized  as  a  well-bred  woman. 

"  Don't  you  remember  him?"  replied  the  gentleman 
who  accompanied  her.  44  Madame  du  Châtelet  once 
presented  him  to  you." 

"  You  don't  mean  that  son  of  an  apothecary  she  was 
in  love  with,  who  became  a  journalist, — the  lover  of 
Mademoiselle  Coralie  ?  " 

"I  thought  him  fallen  too  low  ever  to  rise  again; 
I  don't  understand  how  he  has  managed  to  re-appear 
in  Parisian  society,"  said  Comte  Sixte  du  Châtelet. 

"He  has  the  air  of  a  prince,"  said  the  mask,  "  and 
that  actress  with  whom  he  lived  could  never  have 
given  it  to  him.  My  cousin,  who  invented  him,  was 
never  able  to  disinfect  him  wholly.  I  should  like  to 
know  the  mistress  of  this  Sarginus.  Tell  me  some- 
thing of  his  life  that  I  may  go  and  mystify  him." 

The  couple  who  then  followed  the  young  man,  whis- 
pering in  each  other's  ear,  were  instantly  and  particu- 
larly observed  by  the  mask  with  the  square  shoulders. 

"Dear  Monsieur  Chardon,"  said  the  prefect  of  the 


Lucien  de  Rubempré. 


5 


Charente,  taking  the  young  dandy  by  the  arm,  "  I 
present  to  you  a  lady  who  desires  to  renew  her 
acquaintance  with  you/"' 

'•'Dear  Comte  Châtelet,"  replied  the  young  man, 
"this  lady  makes  me  feel  how  ridiculous  was  the 
name  you  give  me.  An  ordinance  of  the  king  has 
restored  to  me  the  name  of  my  maternal  ancestors, 
the  Rubemprés.  Though  the  newspapers  have  an- 
nounced the  fact,  it  concerns  so  insignificant  a  per- 
sonage that  I  do  not  blush  to  recall  it  to  my  friends, 
my  enemies,  and  all  indifferent  persons.  Class  your- 
self as  you  please,  but  I  am  certain  you  will  not  dis- 
approve of  a  measure  to  which  your  wife,  when  she 
was  only  Madame  de  Bargeton,  advised  me."  (This 
neat  retort,  which  made  the  lady  smile,  sent  a  nervous 
thrill  through  the  prefect  of  the  Charente.)  "Please 
tell  her,"  added  L  ucien,  "that  I  now  bear  gules,  a 
bull  savage  argent,  in  a  field  vert." 

"Savage  argent!  "  repeated  Châtelet. 

"  Madame  la  marquise  will  explain  to  you,  if  you  don't 
know  it,  why  this  ancient  coat-of-arms  is  better  than 
the  chamberlain's  key  and  the  golden  bees  of  the  Empire 
which  are  in  yours,  to  the  great  despair  of  Madame 
Châtelet,  née  Négrepelisse  d'Espard,"  said  Lucien, 
sharply. 

"As  you  have  recognized  me  I  cannot  mystify  you 
now,  but  also  I  cannot  express  to  you  how  you  mystify 
me,"  said  the  Marquise  d'Espard,  in  a  low  voice, 
amazed  at  the  cool  self-possession  and  insolence  ac- 
quired by  the  man  she  had  formerly  despised. 

"Permit  me  therefore,  madame,  to  retain  the  only 
chance  I  have  of  occupying  your  thoughts  by  remain- 


6 


Lucien  de  Hubempré. 


ing  in  that  mysterious  twilight,"  he  replied,  with  the 
smile  of  a  man  who  has  no  intention  of  compromising 
an  assured  happiness. 

The  marquise  could  not  restrain  a  displeased  gesture 
at  finding  herself,  as  they  say  in  England,  cut  by 
Lucien' s  formality. 

"  I  congratulate  you  on  your  change  of  condition," 
said  the  Comte  du  Châtelet. 

4  '  I  receive  your  congratulations  with  the  spirit  in 
which  you  offer  them,"  replied  Lucien,  bowing  to  the 
marquise  with  much  grace. 

"  Conceited  puppy  !  "  said  the  count  in  a  low  voice 
to  Madame  d'Espard  ;  'k  he  has  succeeded  at  last  in 
acquiring  ancestors." 

44  Conceit  in  young  men,  when  practised  upon  us,  is 
almost  always  the  sign  of  some  very  high-placed  hap- 
piness ;  in  men  of  your  age  it  means  ill-fortune.  I 
should  like  to  know  which  woman  of  our  world  has 
taken  this  fine  birdling  under  her  protection  ;  it  might 
give  me  some  chance  of  amusement  to-night.  My 
anonymous  note  is  doubtless  a  bit  of  malice  done  by 
some  rival,  for  it  concerns  this  young  man  ;  his  im- 
pertinence may  have  been  dictated  to  him.  Watch 
him.  I  '11  take  the  arm  of  the  Duc  de  Navarreins,  and 
you  will  know  where  to  find  me." 

Just  as  Madame  d'Espard  was  about  to  join  her 
relation,  the  stout  mask  stepped  between  her  and  the 
duke  and  whispered  in  her  ear  :  — 

44  Lucien  loves  you  ;  he  wrote  that  note.  Your  pre- 
fect is  his  greatest  enemy  ;  how  then,  could  he  explain 
himself  before  him?" 

The   unknown   personage   walked   away,  leaving 


Lucien  de  Rubenvpré. 


7 


Madame  d'Espard  the  victim  of  a  twofold  surprise. 
She  knew  of  no  one  able  to  play  the  part  assumed  by 
the  mask  ;  she  feared  some  trap,  and  went  away  by 
herself  and  sat  down.  Comte  Sixte  du  Châtelet, 
whom  Lucien  had,  as  we  have  seen,  deprived  of  his 
ambitious  du  with  a  malice  which  showed  a  predeter- 
mined vengeance,  followed  the  handsome  dandy  at  a 
distance,  and  presently  met  a  young  man  to  whom  he 
thought  he  could  safely  unbosom  himself. 

"  Well,  Rastignac,  have  you  seen  Lucien?  he  has 
come  to  life  again,  with  a  new  skin." 

"If  I  were  as  handsome  a  fellow  as  he,  I  *d  be  still 
richer  than  he,"  replied  the  young  man,  in  an  airy  tone, 
though  shrewd  and  expressive  of  Attic  sarcasm. 

"  No,"  said  the  voice  of  the  stout  mask  in  his  ear, 
returning  a  hundred  sarcasms  for  one  in  the  mere  man- 
ner with  which  he  accented  the  monosyllable. 

Rastignac,  who  was  not  a  man  to  bear  an  insult, 
stood  as  if  struck  by  lightning  ;  then  he  suffered  him- 
self to  be  led  to  the  recess  of  a  window  by  an  iron 
hand,  which  he  felt  he  was  unable  to  shake  off. 

"  Young  cock,  hatched  in  Mother  Vauquer's  hen- 
yard,  whose  heart  failed  you  in  grasping  the  millions 
of  old  Taillefer  when  the  worst  of  the  work  was 
done,  let  me  tell  you,  for  your  personal  safety,  that 
if  you  don't  behave  towards  Lucien  as  to  a  brother 
whom  you  love,  you  are  in  our  hands  while  we  are  not 
in  yours.  Silence  and  obedience,  or  I  '11  enter  your 
game  and  knock  over  your  ninepins.  Lucien  de  Ru- 
bempré  is  protected  by  the  greatest  power  of  the 
present  day,  the  Church.  Choose  between  life  and 
death.    Answer  me!" 


V 


8  Lucien  de  Rubempré. 

Rastignac's  brain  swam  like  that  of  a  man  sleeping 
in  a  forest  who  wakes  to  see  a  lioness  beside  him.  He 
was  afraid,  and  there  were  no  witnesses  ;  the  most 
courageous  men  will  yield  to  fear  when  that  is  the  case. 

"  None  but  he  could  know  —  or  dare/'  he  muttered 
to  himself. 

The  mask  pressed  his  hand  as  if  to  prevent  him  from 
finishing  his  sentence. 

44  Act  as  if  it  were  he"  he  said. 

Rastignac  then  behaved  like  a  millionnaire  on  a  high- 
way when  a  brigand  points  a  pistol  at  his  head  ;  he 
capitulated. 

"  My  dear  count,"  he  said  to  du  Châtelet,  to  whom 
he  returned,  "  if  you  value  your  position,  treat  Lucien 
de  Rubempré  as  a  man  whom  you  will  one  day  see  in  a 
much  higher  place  than  your  own." 

The  mask  made  an  almost  imperceptible  gesture  of 
satisfaction,  and  started  again  on  Lucien's  traces. 

"  My  dear  fellow,  you  have  rather  rapidly  changed 
your  opinion  about  him,"  replied  the  prefect,  naturally 
astonished. 

4 4  As  rapidly  as  some  of  the  Centre,  who  have  voted 
with  the  Right,"  replied  Rastignac  to  the  prefect-deputy, 
whose  vote  had  been  lacking  to  the  Ministry  within 
a  week  or  two. 

44  Are  there  such  things  as  opinions  in  these  days?  " 
remarked  des  Lupeaulx,  who  was  listening  to  them. 
"  What  are  you  discussing  ?  " 

44  The  Sieur  de  Rubempré,  whom  Rastignac  wants 
me  to  believe  is  really  a  personage,"  said  the  deputy 
to  the  secretary-general. 

"  My  dear  count,"  replied  des  Lupeaulx,  gravely, 


* 


Esther. 


Lucien  de  Rubempré. 


9 


"  Monsieur  de  Rubempré  is  a  young  man  of  the  highest 
merit  ;  and  so  influentially  protected  that  I  should  con- 
sider myself  very  fortunate  in  being  able  to  renew  my 
acquaintance  with  him." 

'  '  He  is  certain  to  tumble  into  the  pitfall  of  the  roués 
of  the  epoch,"  said  Rastignac. 

The  speakers  turned  toward  a  corner  where  a  number 
of  the  wits  of  the  day,  men  more  or  less  celebrated 
and  some  of  them  distinguished,  were  collected.  These 
gentlemen  were  contributing  their  observations,  their 
bon  mots,  and  their  malicious  wit  to  the  common 
fund,  endeavoring  to  amuse  themselves,  or  awaiting 
the  advent  of  some  amusement.  In  this  group,  which 
was  oddly  composed,  were  a  number  of  men  with 
whom  Lucien  had  formerly  had  relations,  made  up  of 
ostensibly  good  services  and  concealed  evil  ones. 

"  Well,  Lucien,  my  boy,  my  dear  fellow  !  so  here 
we  are,  mended  and  done  up  as  good  as  new.  Where 
do  we  come  from?  Did  we  vault  upon  our  new  horse 
by  means  of  the  gifts  that  were  sent  from  Florine's 
boudoir?  Bravo,  my  boy!"  said  Blondet,  releasing 
Fin  of  s  arm  to  take  Lucien  familiarly  round  the  body 
and  press  him  to  his  heart. 

Andoche  Finot  was  the  proprietor  of  a  review  for 
which  Lucien  had  once  worked  almost  gratis  ;  and 
which  Blondet  still  enriched  by  the  wisdom  of  his 
counsels,  the  depth  of  his  views,  and  his  occasional 
collaboration.  Finot  and  Blondet  personified  Bertrand 
and  Raton,  —  with  this  difference,  that  while  La  Fon- 
taine's cat  only  ended  by  knowing  itself  duped,  Blon- 
det, knowing  it  all  along,  still  served  Finot.  This 
brilliant  free  lance  of  the  pen  was,  in  truth,  and  for 


10 


Lucien  de  Rubemjpré. 


a  long  time,  a  slave.  Finot  concealed  a  brutal  will 
beneath  a  heavy  exterior  and  a  sluggish  stupidity 
rubbed  with  intellect  as  a  ship's  biscuit  is  rubbed  with 
garlic.  He  knew  how  to  harvest  what  he  gleaned  of 
ideas  and  money  in  the  broad  field  of  the  dissipated 
life  led  by  men  of  letters  and  men  in  politics.  Blondet, 
to  his  great  misfortune,  kept  his  intellect  in  the  pay  of 
his  laziness  and  his  vices.  Constantly  overtaken  by 
want,  he  belonged  to  the  poor  clan  of  eminent  men 
who  can  do  much  for  the  good  of  others,  and  nothing 
for  their  own, — Aladdins  who  allow  their  lamps  to 
be  borrowed  from  them.  These  admirable  counsellors 
have  keen  and  just  minds  when  not  dragged  away  by 
personal  interests.  With  them  it  is  the  heart,  and  not 
the  arm,  which  acts.  Hence  the  inconsistencies  of 
their  moral  sense,  and  the  blame  which  inferior  minds 
often  cast  upon  them.  Blondet  would  share  his  purse 
with  the  comrade  he  had  wounded  the  night  before  ; 
he  would  dine,  drink,  and  sleep  with  another  whom 
he  stabbed  with  his  pen  the  next  day.  His  amusing 
paradoxes  seemed  to  justify  everything.  Accepting 
the  whole  world  as  a  jest,  he  did  not  choose  to  be 
taken  seriously  himself.  Young,  beloved,  almost  cele- 
brated, and  happy,  he  gave  no  thought,  as  Finot  did, 
to  acquiring  the  fortune  necessary  for  middle  life. 

The  most  difficult  courage  of  all  is,  perhaps,  that 
which  Lucien  needed  at  this  moment  to  cut  Blondet 
as  he  had  alreadj*  cut  Madame  d'Espard  and  du  Châ- 
telet.  Unhappily,  in  him  the  delights  of  vanity  hin- 
dered the  exercise  of  pride,  which  is  certainly  the 
active  principle  of  many  great  things.  His  vanity  had 
triumphed  in  the  preceding  encounter  ;  he  had  showu 


Lucien  de  Eubempré. 


11 


himself  rich,  disdainful,  and  happy  to  persons  who 
had  formerly  disdained  him  when  poor  and  miserable. 
But  now,  could  a  poet,  like  an  aged  diplomatist,  rebuff 
to  their  faces  two  self-styled  friends,  who  had  helped 
him  in  his  poverty,  and  with  whom  he  had  consorted 
in  the  dark  days  of  his  distress  ?  Like  a  soldier  who 
does  not  know  when  and  where  to  use  his  courage, 
Lucien  did  what  many  another  man  in  Paris  has  done  ; 
he  compromised  himself  once  more  by  accepting  the 
shake  of  Finot's  hand,  and  by  not  refusing  Blondet's 
caress.  Whoever  has  been  or  is  concerned  with  jour- 
nalism is  under  the  cruel  necessity  of  bowing  to  men 
whom  he  despises,  of  smiling  upon  his  best  enemy,  of 
compromising  with  fetid  vileness,  and  dirtying  his 
fingers  in  the  endeavor  to  pay  his  aggressors  in  their 
own  coin.  He  gets  habituated  to  seeing  evil  and  letting 
it  pass  ;  he  begins  by  condoning  it,  and  finally  commits 
it.  In  course  of  time  the  soul,  constantly  stained  by 
shameful  transactions,  dwindles  ;  that  instrument  of 
noble  thought  corrodes,  its  worn-out  hinges  turn  of 
themselves.  Alceste  becomes  Philinte,  character  is 
enervated,  talents  degenerate,  and  faith  in  noble 
works  takes  wing.  He  who  began  by  taking  pride 
in  his  own  pages  spends  himself  as  he  goes  along 
in  wretched  articles  which  his  conscience  tells  him, 
sooner  or  later,  are  so  many  wicked  actions.  He 
came,  like  Lousteau,  like  Vernou,  intending  to  be  a 
great  and  useful  writer,  he  finds  himself  an  impotent 
penny-a-liner.  Consequently,  we  cannot  too  highly 
honor  men  who  keep  their  character  to  the  level  of 
their  talents,  and  who,  like  d'Arthèz,  know  how  to 
walk  with  unfaltering  step  among  the  rocks  and  reefs 
of  a  literary  life. 


12 


Lucien  de  Bubempré. 


Lucien  found  nothing  to  say  in  reply  to  Blondet, 
whose  easy  wit  always  exercised  upon  him  an  irre- 
sistible fascination,  the  ascendency  of  a  corrupter 
over  his  pupil.  Blondet  held,  moreover,  a  good  posi- 
tion in  society,  owing  to  his  intimacy  with  the  Com- 
tesse de  Montcornet. 

"Have  you  inherited  from  an  uncle?"  asked  Gen- 
eral de  Montcornet,  jesting. 

"  Like  you,  I  hold  folly  at  arm's  length,"  replied 
Lucien  in  the  same  tone. 

"Has  monsieur  set  up  a  review,  or  some  sort  of 
journal?"  asked  Andoche  Finot,  with  the  blustering 
impertinence  of  a  man  who  lives  on  the  brains  of 
others. 

"  Better  than  that,"  replied  Lucien,  whose  vanity, 
stung  by  the  superiority  assumed  by  the  editor-in-chief, 
brought  him  suddenly  back  to  a  sense  of  his  new 
position. 

"  What  is  it,  my  dear  fellow?" 

"  I  have  a  Cause." 

"Cause,  Lucien?"  said  Vernou,  smiling. 

"Ah!  Finot,  you  are  distanced  by  this  fellow;  I 
always  predicted  it.  Lucien  has  talent  ;  you  did  n't 
make  the  most  of  it  ;  you  let  him  go  to  the  dogs. 
Repent,  you  fat  blockhead  !  "  cried  Blondet. 

Penetrating  as  musk,  Blondet  saw  more  than  one 
secret  in  Lucien's  tone  and  gesture  and  manner  ;  while 
soothing  him,  however,  he  tightened  by  his  words  the 
curb-chain  of  the  bit.  He  resolved  to  know  the  secret 
of  Lucien's  return  to  Paris,  his  projects,  and  his  means 
of  existence. 

"  Down  on  your  knees  before  a  superiority  you  can 


Lucien  de  Rubempré. 


13 


never  attain,  though  you  are  Finot,"  he  continued. 
''Admit  him  instantly  to  the  membership  of  strong 
men  to  whom  the  future  belongs  ;  he 's  one  of  us  ! 
Witty  and  handsome,  is  he  not  bound  to  succeed  by 
your  qaibuscumque  viisf  Behold  him  here  in  his 
strong  Milan  armor,  his  doughty  dagger  half  drawn, 
his  banner  flying  !  Tudieu  !  Lucien,  where  did  you 
steal  that  pretty  waistcoat?  Nothing  but  love  can 
find  such  stuffs  as  that.  Have  we  a  home  ?  Just  now 
I 'm  anxious  to  know  the  addresses  of  my  friends,  for 
I  have  n't  where  to  lay  my  head.  Finot  turned  me  out 
to-night  on  the  vulgar  pretext  of  a  love  affair." 

"My  dear  fellow,"  replied  Lucien,  "I've  put  in 
practice  a  maxim  which  is  sure  to  lead  to  a  tranqnil 
life:    Fuge,  late,  tace!    I  leave  you." 

"But  I  don't  leave  you  until  you  pay  me  a  sacred 
debt,  —  that  little  supper,  hein?"  said  Blondet,  who 
was  rather  given  to  good  eating  and  got  himself  in- 
vited by  his  friends  when  money  lacked. 

"What  supper?"  asked  Lucien,  with  a  gesture  of 
impatience. 

"You  don't  remember?  By  that  I  recognize  the 
prosperity  of  a  friend,  —  he  loses  his  memory." 

"  He  knows  what  he  owes  us  ;  I  '11  guarantee  his 
heart,"  cried  Finot,  catching  up  Blondet' s  joke. 

"  Rastignac,"  said  Blondet,  taking  that  young  man 
by  the  arm  as  soon  as  he  reached  the  upper  end  of 
the  foyer  near  the  column  around  which  these  so-called 
friends  were  grouped,  "  we  are  talking  of  a  supper  ;  will 
you  come  ?  —  unless  monsieur  here,"  he  added,  very 
seriously,  motioning  to  Lucien,  "  persists  in  denying 
a  debt  of  honor.    He  may  possibly  do  so." 


14 


Lucien  de  Rubemprê. 


"  Monsieur  de  Rubempré  is  incapable  of  that,"  said 
Rastignac,  who  was  thinking  of  far  other  matters. 

"Here's  Bixiou  !  "  cried  Blondet,  "he'll  come; 
nothing  is  complete  without  him.  Unless  he 's  at 
hand,  champagne  only  thickens  my  tongue  ;  every- 
thing is  flat,  even  the  spice  of  epigrams." 

44  My  friends,"  said  Bixiou,  "I  see  you  all  collected 
round  the  marvel  of  the  day.  Our  dear  Lucien  re- 
vives Ovid's  metamorphoses.  Just  as  the  gods  changed 
themselves  into  remarkable  vegetables  and  other  things 
to  seduce  women,  he  has  changed  his  thistle  Chardon 
into  a  nobleman  to  seduce,  what?  Charles  X.  !  My 
little  Lucien,"  he  went  on,  catching  him  by  the  button 
of  his  coat,  44  a  journalist  who  plays  the  great  lord 
deserves  a  famous  charivari.  In  their  place,"  added 
the  pitiless  jester,  pointing  to  Finot  and  Vernou,  "I'd 
cut  you  up  in  their  paper  ;  you 'd  supply  them  with 
columns  of  jokes  which  would  bring  in  thousands  of 
francs." 

44  Bixiou,"  said  Blondet,  44  amphitryons  are  sacred 
twenty-four  hours  previous  and  twelve  hours  subse- 
quent to  the  feast,  which  this  illustrious  friend  of  ours 
is  about  to  give  us." 

44  Of  course,  of  course,"  replied  Bixiou,  44  besides, 
what  can  be  more  desirable  than  to  save  a  great  name 
from  oblivion  and  endow  an  effete  aristocracy  with  a 
man  of  talent?  Lucien,  you  have  the  esteem  of  the 
Press,  of  which  you  once  were  the  noblest  ornament, 
and  we  '11  sustain  you.  Finot,  short  snapping  items 
in  your  Paris-column  !  Blondet,  long-winded,  insinu- 
ating articles  on  the  fourth  page  of  your  paper  !  Let 
us  announce  the  publication  of  the  finest  book  of 


Lucien  de  Bubempre. 


15 


our  time,  '  The  Archer  of  Charles  IX/  and  implore 
Dauriat  to  give  us  another  edition  of  4  Daisies/  those 
divine  sonnets  of  our  French  Petrarch.  Let  us  bear 
aloft  our  friend  on  the  buckler  of  stamped  paper  which 
makes  and  unmakes  reputations  !  " 

"If  you  wish  for  a  supper,"  said  Lucien  to  Blondet, 
to  get  rid  of  the  troop  which  threatened  to  increase, 
"it  seems  to  me  you  needn't  employ  hyperbole  and 
parable  with  an  old  friend  as  if  he  were  a  ninny. 
To-morrow  evening,  at  Lointier's,"  he  added  hastily, 
as  he  saw  a  masked  woman  approaching  him  and 
sprang  forward  to  meet  her. 

"  Oh  !  oh  !  oh  !  "  exclaimed  Bixiou,  on  three  notes 
with  a  scoffing  air,  apparently  recognizing  the  woman 
to  whom  Lucien  had  gone,  "  this  needs  investigating." 

And  he  followed  the  graceful  couple,  passed  in  front 
and  around  them,  examined  them  with  a  searching 
eye,  and  returned,  to  the  great  satisfaction  of  the  envious 
group,  who  were  all  interested  to  find  out  how  and 
why  Lucien's  luck  had  changed. 

"  Friends,"  said  Bixiou,  "  we  have  known  the  Sieur 
de  Rubempré's  new  love  for  a  long  time.  She  is  no 
other  than  des  Lupeaulx's  former  rat." 

One  of  the  social  corruptions  now  forgotten,  but  in 
fashion  at  the  beginning  of  this  century,  was  the  so- 
called  "rat."  A  rat  (the  word  is  out  of  date)  was 
a  child  of  ten  or  twelve  years  of  age,  supernumerary 
of  some  theatre,  more  especially  the  Opera,  who  was 
being  trained  for  vice  and  infamy.  A  rat  was  a  sort 
of  infernal  page,  a  female  gamin,  whose  lively  tricks 
were  usually  forgiven.  A  rat  took  what  she  could 
gei;  she  was  therefore  a  dangerous  animal  and  to 


16 


Lucien  de  Rubempré. 


be  distrusted,  though  she  introduced  an  element  of 
gayety  into  life  behind  the  scenes,  like  that  of  Sgana- 
relle,  Scapin,  and  Frontin  in  the  old  comedies.  But 
the  rat  was  expensive  ;  she  produced  neither  honor, 
nor  profit,  nor  pleasure,  and  the  fashion  passed  so 
completely  away  that  few  persons  knew  this  secret 
detail  of  fashionable  life  before  the  Restoration  until 
the  time  when  a  few  writers  laid  hold  of  the  rat 
as  a  novel  subject. 

"  What  !  is  Lucien,  after  having  Coralie  killed  under 
him,  to  ride  away  with  our  Torpille 1  too  ?  "  said 
Blondet. 

Hearing  that  name,  the  mask  with  athletic  shoulders 
made  a  movement  which,  though  quickly  repressed, 
was  seen  by  Rastignac. 

"That's  not  possible,"  replied  Finot.  u  La  Tor- 
pille has  n't  a  brass  farthing  to  give  him  ;  she  bor- 
rowed, so  Nathan  told  me,  a  thousand  francs  from 
Florine." 

"Oh!  messieurs,"  exclaimed  Rastignac,  endeavor- 
ing to  defend  Lucien  against  these  odious  imputations. 

"  Bah  !  cried  Vernou,  "  is  Coralie's  former  pensioner 
too  straight-laced  ?  " 

"That  thousand  francs  proves  to  me,"  said  Bixiou, 
"  that  our  friend  Lucien  is  living  with  La  Torpille." 

"What  an  irreparable  wrong  done  to  the  élite  of 
literature,  science,  art,  and  politics  !  "  said  Blondet. 
"  La  Torpille  is  the  only  prostitute  in  these  days 
who  has  the  making  of  a  courtesan.  Education  has 
never  spoiled  her  ;  she  can't  read  and  write  ;  but  she 

1  Torpille,  torpedo,  —  a  fish  which  gives  electric  shocks  when 
touched. 


Lucien  de  Bubempre. 


17 


would  always  have  understood  us.  We  might  have 
given  to  our  epoch  one  of  those  magnificent  Aspasian 
figures  without  which  there  has  hitherto  been  no  great 
century.  See  how  the  Dubarry  suits  the  eighteenth  ; 
Ninon  de  l'Enclos  the  seventeenth  ;  Marion  de  l'Orme 
the  sixteenth  ;  Impéria  the  fifteenth.  To  Flora  be- 
longs the  Roman  republic  which  she  made  her  heir, 
and  which  paid  its  public  debt  with  that  inheritance. 
What  would  Horace  be  without  Lydia,  Tibullus  with- 
out Delia,  Catullus  without  Lesbia,  Propertius  without 
Cynthia,  Demetrius  without  Lamia,  who  is  his  only 
glory  in  these  days." 

"  Blondet  talking  of  Demetrius  in  the  foyer  of  the 
Opera  seems  to  me  rather  too  much  shop"  whispered 
Bixiou  to  his  neighbor. 

"  And  without  these  queens  what  would  the  empire 
of  the  Caesars  have  been?"  continued  Blondet.  "  Lai's 
and  Rhodope  are  Greece  and  Egypt.  All  are  the 
poesy  of  the  centuries  in  which  they  lived.  This 
poesy,  which  is  lacking  to  Napoleon  (for  the  widow  of 
his  Grand  army  is  a  barrack  jest)  is  not  lacking  to  the 
Republic,  which  had  Madame  Tallien.  And  now  in 
France  who  is  there  to  fill  the  vacant  throne  ?  All  of 
us  here  present  could  have  made  a  queen.  I  might 
have  given  an  aunt  to  la  Torpille  (for  her  mother  is 
too  authentically  dead  on  the  field  of  dishonor),  du 
Tillet  could  have  provided  the  mansion,  Lousteau  a 
carriage,  Rastignac  servants,  des  Lupeaulx  a  cook, 
Finot  hats  "  (Finot  could  not  restrain  a  wince  as  he 
received  this  shaft  full  in  the  face),  "  and  Vernou 
should  have  puffed  her  while  Bixiou  put  wit  in  her 
mouth,    The  aristocracy  would  have  flocked  to  amusa 

2 


18 


Lucien  de  Rubempré. 


itself  with  our  Ninon,  around  whom  we  would  have 
summoned  artists  of  all  descriptions  under  pain  of 
condemnatory  articles.  Ninon  the  Second  should 
have  been  magnificent  in  assumption,  overwhelming 
in  luxury.  She  should  have  had  Opinions.  Forbidden 
dramatic  masterpieces  should  have  been  read  at  her 
house  ;  written  expressly  for  it.  She  should  not  have 
been  a  liberal,  for  a  courtesan  is  essentially  monarchi- 
cal. Ah!  what  a  loss,  what  a  loss  !  she  ought  to  have 
kindled  a  whole  century,  and  she  loves  one  poor,  mis- 
erable young  man  !  Lucien  will  break  her  like  a 
hound  !  " 

"  None  of  the  female  potentates  you  mention  ever 
came  from  the  streets,"  said  Finot,  44  but  this  little  rat 
has  rolled  in  the  gutter." 

44  Yes,  like  the  bulb  of  a  lily  in  the  muck,"  remarked 
Vernou,  4  4  where  it  blooms  and  increases  in  beauty. 
There  lies  her  superiority.  Must  we  not  know  all,  to 
create  the  laughter  and  the  joy  that  are  derived 
from  all?" 

44  He  is  right,"  said  Lousteau,  who  until  then  had 
listened  and  observed  without  speaking.  44  La  Tor- 
pille knows  how  to  laugh  and  to  create  laughter. 
That  science  of  great  writers  and  great  actors  belongs 
to  those  who  have  fathomed  all  social  depths  !  At 
eighteen  years  of  age  that  girl  has  already  known  the 
utmost  opulence,  the  lowest  poverty,  and  men  at  every 
stage  of  life.  She  holds  the  magic  wand  that  unchains 
the  passions  of  men  ;  she  is  the  salt  sung  by  Rabelais 
which,  if  flung  upon  Matter  inspires  and  lifts  it  to  the 
marvellous  regions  of  Art  ;  her  robe  sheds  speechless 
magnificence  ;   her  fingers  drop  jewels  as  her  lips 


Lucien  de  Ruhempré. 


19 


drop  smiles  ;  she  gives  to  everything  the  spirit  of  the 
occasion  ;  her  jargon  sparkles  with  wit  ;  she  possesses 
the  secret  of  onomatopoeia  to  every  shade  of  sound  ; 
she  —  " 

"  You  are  losing  five  francs'  worth  of  feuilleton," 
said  Bixiou,  interrupting  Lousteau.  "La  Torpille  is 
infinitely  better  than  all  that.  You  have  all  been 
more  or  less  her  lovers,  but  none  of  you  can  say  she 
has  ever  been  your  mistress  ;  she  can  have  you  at  any 
moment,  but  you  will  never  have  her.  You  force  your 
way  to  her  and  ask  her  to  do  you  a  service  —  " 

"  Oh,  as  for  that,"  said  Blondet,  "she  is  more  gen- 
erous than  a  brigand  chief  in  his  lucky  moments  ;  and 
more  devoted  than  the  best  of  college  comrades.  You 
can  trust  her  with  your  purse  and  your  secrets.  What 
made  me  elect  her  for  the  queen  of  this  epoch  is  her 
Bourbon  indifference  to  the  fallen  favorite." 

"  She  is  like  her  mother,  much  too  expensive,"  said 
des  Lupeaulx.  "  The  former  would  have  swallowed 
up  the  revenues  of  the  archbishop  of  Toledo  ;  she  ran 
through  two  notaries  —  " 

"  And  fed  Maxime  de  Trailles  when  he  was  a  page," 
put  in  Bixiou. 

"  La  Torpille  is  expensive,  like  Raffaelle,  like  Ca- 
rême, like  Taglioni,  like  Lawrence,  like  Boule,  just  as 
all  artists  of  genius  are  dear,"  said  Blondet. 

"  But  Esther  never  had  that  air  and  manner  of  a 
well-bred  woman,"  said  Rastignac,  motioning  to  the 
masked  woman  who  was  leaning  on  Lucien's  arm. 
"  I  will  bet  it  is  Madame  de  Sérizy." 

44  Not  a  doubt  of  it,  exclaimed  du  Châtelet,  "and 
that  explains  Monsieur  de  Rubempré's  prosperity." 


20 


Lucien  de  Rubempré. 


"  Ah  !  what  a  pretty  secretary  to  an  embassy  he  wili 
make  !  "  sneered  des  Lupeaulx. 

44  And  all  the  more  because  Lucien  is  a  man  of 
talent,"  said  Rastignac.  44  These  gentlemen  have  each 
had  more  than  one  proof  of  that,"  he  added,  looking 
at  Blondet,  Finot,  and  Lousteau. 

44  Yes,  the  lad's  cut  out  to  go  far,"  said  Lousteau, 
who  was  bursting  with  jealousy,  44  and  he'll  go  the 
farther  for  having  what  we  call  independence  o] 
ideas  —  " 

44  You  formed  him,"  said  Vernou. 

44  Well,"  resumed  Bixiou,  44 1  appeal  to  the  recol- 
lections of  des  Lupeaulx  ;  I  '11  bet  a  supper  that 
masked  woman  is  La  Torpille." 

44 1  take  the  bet,"  said  du  Châtelet,  who  was  inter- 
ested to  know  the  truth. 

44  Come,  des  Lupeaulx,"  said  Finot,  44  see  if  you 
recognize  the  ears  of  your  rat." 

44  There  's  no  need  to  commit  a  crime  of  lèse-masque ," 
remarked  Bixiou.  44  Esther  and  Lucien  will  pass  us 
presently  as  they  come  up  the  foyer ,  and  I  '11  engage 
to  prove  to  you  that  that  is  she." 

44  So  our  old  friend  Lucien  has  come  to  the  surface, 
has  he?  "  said  Nathan,  who  just  then  joined  the  group. 
44 1  thought  he  had  returned  to  his  native  Angoulême 
for  the  rest  of  his  days.  Has  he  discovered  some 
secret  way  of  escape  from  duns  ?  " 

44  He  has  done  what  you  will  not  do  in  a  hurry,"  said 
Rastignac  ;  44  he  has  paid  his  debts." 

The  stout  mask  nodded  his  head  as  if  in  assent. 

44  When  a  man  reforms  at  his  age,  he  often  deforms 
himself,"  said  Nathan.  "His  boldness  and  vigor  are 
all  gone  :  he  becomes  a  capitalist." 


Lucien  de  Rubempré, 


21 


41  Well,  this  one  will  always  be  grand  seigneur" 
replied  Rastignac;  "there  will  always  be  in  him  a 
certain  height  of  ideas  which  will  put  him  above  many 
men  who  think  themselves  his  superiors." 

At  this  moment  journalists,  idlers,  dandies,  were  all 
examining,  as  a  jockey  examines  a  horse,  the  charming 
object  of  their  bet.  These  judges,  grown  old  in  the 
knowledge  of  Parisian  depravity,  all  men  of  superior 
mind  each  in  his  different  way,  equally  corrupt,  equally 
corrupting,  and  given  over  to  the  service  of  unbridled 
ambitions,  accustomed  to  suppose  all,  to  divine  all,  — 
these  men  had  their  eyes  fixed  eagerly  on  the  masked 
woman, —  a  woman  who  could  not  be  deciphered  by 
any  but  such  as  they.  They  and  a  few  other  habitues 
of  the  Opera  could  alone  recognize  under  the  shroud 
of  a  black  domino,  under  the  hood  and  the  falling 
cape,  which  make  all  women  look  alike,  the  outline  of 
the  form,  the  peculiarities  of  carriage  and  gait,  the 
movement  of  the  figure,  the  poise  of  the  head,  —  things 
the  least  perceptible  to  common  eyes,  but  to  theirs 
quite  easy  to  perceive. 

In  spite  of  the  shapeless  garment,  they  were  able  to 
recognize  the  most  moving  of  all  sights,  —  that  which 
presents  itself  to  the  eye  when  we  see  a  woman  ani- 
mated by  a  real,  true  love.  Whether  it  were  La  Tor- 
pille, the  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse,  or  Madame  de 
Sérizy,  the  lowest  or  the  highest  rung  of  the  social 
ladder,  this  creature  was  an  adorable  creation,  the 
flash  of  all  happy  dreams.  These  old  young  men,  as 
well  as  certain  young  old  ones,  were  conscious  of  so 
keen  a  sensation  that  they  envied  Lucien  the  sublime 
privilege  of  transforming  that  woman  to  a  goddess. 


22 


Lucien  de  Bubempre. 


She  was  there  as  though  she  were  alone  with  Lucien  ; 
to  her  there  were  no  ten  thousand  persons  present,  there 
was  no  heavy  atmosphere  thick  with  dust  ;  she  was  iso- 
lated beneath  the  celestial  vault  of  Love  as  Raffaelle's 
madonnas  beneath  their  golden  halos.  She  felt  no 
pressure  of  the  crowd  ;  her  eyes  flamed  through  the 
fissures  of  her  mask,  and  fixed  themselves  on  Lucien  ; 
the  quivering  of  her  whole  person  seemed  to  respond  to 
the  movements  of  her  beloved.  Whence  comes  that 
flame  which  shines  about  a  loving  woman  and  singles 
her  from  every  other  ?  Whence  that  sylph-like  buoy- 
ancy which  seems  to  change  the  laws  of  weight?  Is  it 
the  soul  escaping?  Can  happiness  possess  some  phys- 
ical efficacy?  The  graces  of  childhood,  of  virgin  inno- 
cence, were  visible  behind  that  domino.  Though  parted 
and  walking,  these  two  beings  were  like  the  groups  of 
Flora  and  Zephyrus  entwined,  as  we  see  them,  by  dis- 
tinguished sculptors  ;  but  here  was  something  more 
than  sculpture,  that  grandest  of  arts.  Lucien  and  his 
domino  recalled  those  angels  playing  with  birds  and 
flowers,  such  as  Gian- Bellini  has  painted  beneath  the 
portraits  of  the  Virgin-Mother  ;  Lucien  and  this  woman 
belonged  to  Fantasy,  which  is  higher  than  Art  as  cause 
is  higher  than  effect. 

When  this  woman,  oblivious  of  all,  came  within 
a  step  of  the  watching  group,  Bixiou  cried  out, 
"  Esther  !  "  The  unfortunate  creature  turned  her  head 
quickly,  as  persons  do  when  they  hear  themselves 
called,  recognized  the  malicious  querist,  and  dropped 
her  head  on  her  breast,  as  the  head  of  the  dying  falls 
when  the  last  breath  leaves  it.  A  jarring  laugh  broke 
from  the  group  of  men,  who  dispersed  into  the  crowd 


Lucien  de  Rubemjpré. 


23 


like  mice  making  for  their  holes.  Rastignac  alone  re- 
mained, that  he  might  not  seem  to  fly  before  Lucien's 
flaming  glance.  He  saw  before  him  two  sorrows, 
equally  profound,  though  veiled,  —  that  of  the  pool 
Torpille,  struck  down  as  by  a  thunderbolt  ;  that  of 
the  strange,  incomprehensible  mask,  the  only  remain- 
ing person  of  the  late  group.  Esther  said  a  word  in 
Lucien's  ear  as  her  knees  gave  way  under  her,  and 
Lucien,  supporting  her  on  his  arm,  disappeared  with 
her.  Rastignac  followed  the  pair  with  his  eye,  stand- 
ing lost  in  reflection. 

"How  did  she  get  the  name  of  Torpille?"  said  a 
sombre  voice,  which  struck  to  his  very  vitals,  for  it 
was  not  disguised. 

"It  is  Ae,  indeed,  —  escaped  again!"  murmured 
Rastignac  to  himself. 

"  Silence  !  or  I  strangle  you,"  said  the  mask,  in 
another  voice.  "I  am  satisfied  with  you;  you  have 
kept  your  word,  and  more  than  one  arm  is  now  at 
your  service.  Henceforth  be  dumb  as  the  grave  ;  but, 
before  being  silent  forever,  answer  my  question." 

"  Well,  the  girl  is  so  magnetic  that  she  might  have 
laid  her  benumbing  spell  on  the  Emperor  Napoleon,  as 
she  will  on  some  one  more  difficult  to  allure  —  you  !  " 
replied  Rastignac,  moving  away. 

"  One  moment,"  said  the  mask.  "  I  wish  to  prove 
to  you  that  you  have  never  seen  me." 

The  man  unmasked.  Rastignac  hesitated  a  moment, 
seeing  no  sign  of  the  repellent  personage  he  had  for- 
merly known  in  the  Maison  Vauquer,  then  he  said  :  — 

"The  devil  has  enabled  you  to  change  everything 
about  you  except  your  eyes,  which  can  never  be  for- 
gotten," 


24 


Lucien  de  Ruhempré. 


An  iron  hand  compressed  his  arm  as  if  to  warn  him 
to  eternal  silence. 

At  three  in  the  morning  des  Lupeaulx  and  Finot 
found  Rastignac  leaning  against  a  column  at  the  place 
where  the  terrible  mask  had  left  him.  He  had  con- 
fessed his  soul  to  himself  ;  he  had  been  priest  and 
penitent,  judge  and  criminal.  He  allowed  them  to  take 
him  away  to  breakfast,  and  returned  home  completely 
drunk,  but  taciturn. 


Lucien  de  Bubempré. 


25 


n. 

LA  TORPILLE. 

The  rue  de  Langlade,  like  the  adjacent  streets,  dis- 
figures the  Palais-Royal  and  the  rue  de  Rivoli.  This 
part  of  one  of  the  most  brilliant  quarters  of  Paris  re- 
tained for  a  long  time  the  pollution  left  by  the  mounds 
of  filth  and  rubbish  of  the  old  city  on  which  there  were 
formerly  windmills.  These  narrow  streets,  dark  and 
muddy,  where  various  slovenly  industries  are  carried 
on,  present  at  night  a  mysterious  physiognomy  that  is 
full  of  contrasts.  Coming  from  the  lighted  regions  of 
the  rue  Saint-Honoré,  the  rue  Neuve-des-Petits-Champs, 
and  the  rue  de  Richelieu,  incessantly  crowded  and 
brilliant  with  the  masterpieces  of  Industry,  Fashion, 
and  Art,  any  man  to  whom  the  Paris  of  the  uight-time 
is  unknown  would  be  seized  with  gloomy  terror  if  he 
entered  the  network  of  little  streets  encircled  by  that 
light  reflected  on  the  skies.  Black  shadows  succeed 
the  glare  of  gas.  At  long  distances  a  pale  oil-lamp 
casts  an  uncertain  smoky  gleam,  which  does  not 
reach  into  certain  dark  and  dismal  alleys.  Those 
who  pass  through  this  region  —  and  they  are  few  — 
hurry  on.  The  shops  are  mostly  closed  ;  the  ones  that 
are  open  are  of  bad  character, —  either  dirty,  ill-lighted 
wine-shops,  or  those  of  low  milliners,  where  cologne  is 
sold.    Unwholesome  chills  lay  their  damp  mantle  on 


26 


Lucien  de  Bubempré. 


your  shoulders.  Few  carriages  go  by.  Ominous  an- 
gles meet  the  eye,  among  which  can  be  distinguished 
that  of  the  rue  de  Langlade,  the  opening  to  the  passage 
Saint-Guillaume,  and  several  other  dark  corners. 

The  municipal  council  has  never  succeeded  in  cleans- 
ing this  great  plague-spot,  where  prostitution  has  long 
established  its  headquarters.  Perhaps  it  is  as  well  for 
the  Parisian  world  to  leave  to  these  narrow  streets 
their  loathsome  aspect.  Passing  through  them  in 
the  day-time  no  one  would  imagine  what  they  are  by 
night.  Then  they  are  lined  with  fantastic  beings  of 
no  world  but  their  own  ;  white,  half-naked  figures 
lean  against  the  walls  ;  the  shadows  become  ani- 
mated. Between  the  walls  and  the  passers  along  the 
street,  glide  costumes  which  talk  and  walk.  Some 
half-open  doors  laugh  loudly.  Words  which  Rabe- 
lais declares  to  be  frozen,  and  which  are  melting,  fall 
upon  the  ear.  Scraps  of  song  rise  between  the  paving- 
stones.  The  noise  is  not  vague  ;  it  signifies  some- 
thing. When  it  is  hoarse  and  strident  it  is  a  voice  ; 
but  when  it  resembles  a  song  there  is  nothing  human 
in  it  ;  it  is  more  like  hissing  ;  it  is  sibilant.  The 
tapping  of  boot-heels  has  something,  I  know  not 
what,  provocative  and  mocking.  This  confused  mass 
of  things  turns  the  brain.  Atmospheric  conditions  are 
upset  ;  one  is  hot  in  winter  and  cold  in  summer.  But, 
whatever  the  weather  be,  this  strange  nature  offers 
ever  the  same  spectacle  :  the  fantastic  world  of  Hoff- 
mann is  there.  The  most  matter-of-fact  book-keeper 
would  find  nothing  real  after  crossing  the  narrow  de- 
files which  lead  from  decent  streets  where  there  are 
passers  and  shops  and  lamps.    More  indifferent  or 


Lucien  de  Bubempré. 


27 


more  shame-faced  than  the  queens  and  kings  of  a 
past  time,  who  did  not  fear  to  concern  themselves 
with  courtesans,  present  administrations  or  modern 
policy  dare  not  face  the  question  of  this  open  sore  of 
capitals.  Certainly,  measures  must  change  with  the 
times  ;  and  those  which  handle  individuals  and  their 
liberty  are  delicate  ;  but  boldness  and  decision  might 
be  shown  on  purely  material  points,  such  as  air,  light, 
and  condition  of  premises.  The  moralist,  the  artist, 
and  the  wise  administrator  will  regret  the  demolition 
of  Galeries  de  Bois  of  the  Palais- Royal,  where  were 
penned  those  lambs  who  will  always  come  where 
loungers  congregate.  What  has  been  the  result?  To- 
day, the  most  brilliant  parts  of  the  boulevards,  that 
enchanting  promenade,  are  interdicted  in  the  evening 
to  families.  The  police  have  not  profited  by  the  re- 
source offered  in  certain  passages,  to  protect  the 
public  thoroughfares. 

The  girl  crushed  by  the  sound  of  her  name  at  the 
masked  ball  had  lived,  for  the  last  month  or  two,  in 
a  squalid- looking  house  in  the  rue  de  Langlade. 
Propped  against  the  wall  of  an  enormous  edifice, 
this  building,  ill-plastered,  shallow,  and  of  prodigious 
height,  is  lighted  from  the  street  only,  and  resembles 
nothing  so  much  as  a  parrot's  perch.  A  couple  of 
rooms  are  on  each  floor,  and  no  more.  They  are 
reached  by  a  slender  stairway  clinging  to  the  wall  and 
curiously  lighted  by  sashes  which  show  to  those  with- 
out the  railing  of  the  stairs,  —  each  landing  being 
indicated  by  a  sink-drain,  one  of  the  most  horrible 
peculiarities  of  Paris.  The  shop  and  the  lower  floor 
were  occupied  just  then  by  a  tin-smith  ;  the  owner  of 


28 


Lucien  de  Eubempré. 


the  property  lived  on  the  floor  above,  and  the  remain- 
ing four  stories  were  hired  by  decent  grisettes  who 
received  a  good  deal  of  consideration  and  some  conces- 
sions from  the  proprietor  and  the  portress  on  account  of 
the  difficulty  of  letting  a  house  so  strangely  built  and 
situated.  The  uses  to  which  this  quarter  was  put  is 
explained  by  the  existence  of  several  other  houses 
built  in  the  same  way,  which  are  not  serviceable  for 
business,  and  can  only  be  profitably  used  for  secret, 
precarious,  and  questionable  purposes. 

About  three  in  the  afternoon,  the  portress  who  had 
seen  Mademoiselle  Esther  brought  home  in  a  fainting 
condition  by  a  young  man  at  two  in  the  morning,  took 
counsel  with  the  grisette  who  lived  on  the  floor  above, 
and  who,  before  driving  off  in  a  carriage  on  a  pleasure 
excursion,  had  expressed  her  uneasiness  to  the  portress 
about  Esther,  whom  she  had  not  heard  stirring  as 
usual  all  the  morning.  Esther  was  doubtless  asleep, 
but  the  sleep  seemed  suspicious.  Being  alone  in  the 
lodge  the  portress  was  unable  to  go  up  and  inquire 
what  was  happening  on  the  fourth  story,  where  Esther 
lodged.  She  began  to  feel  anxious,  and  was  just 
about  to  confide  the  care  of  the  lodge  (a  sort  of  niche 
scooped  in  the  wall  of  the  lower  floor)  to  the  son  of  the 
tinsmith,  when  a  hackney-coach  stopped  at  the  door. 
A  man  wrapped  in  a  cloak  from  head  to  foot,  with  the 
evident  intention  of  hiding  his  dress  or  his  quality,  got 
out,  and  asked  for  Mademoiselle  Esther.  The  portress 
felt  reassured  at  once  ;  the  silence  and  quietude  were 
fully  accounted  for.  As  the  visitor  passed  up  the  stairs 
above  the  lodge  the  portress  noticed  the  silver  buckles 
that  were  on  his  shoes,  and  she  fancied  she  saw  the 


Lucien  de  Mubempré. 


29 


fringe  of  the  belt  of  a  cassock.  She  went  down  to  the 
street  and  questioned  the  driver,  who  answered  without 
words,  but  the  portress  understood  him. 

The  priest  knocked,  received  no  answer,  heard  low 
sighs,  and  forced  the  door  with  his  shoulder,  with  a 
strength  given  to  him,  no  doubt,  by  charity,  though  in 
another  man  it  might  have  been  thought  habit.  He 
went  hastily  into  the  second  room,  and  there  saw,  be- 
fore a  figure  of  the  Virgin  in  colored  plaster,  poor 
Esther  kneeling,  or  rather  crouching  down  upon  her- 
self, with  her  hands  clasped.    She  was  dying. 

A  brasier  of  lighted  charcoal  told  the  story  of  that 
dreadful  morning.  The  hood  and  mantle  of  her 
domino  lay  on  the  floor.  The  bed  had  not  been  oc- 
cupied. The  poor  creature,  struck  to  the  heart  by  a 
mortal  wound,  had  doubtless  made  her  preparations 
on  returning  from  the  Opera.  An  end  of  candle- 
wick  remaining  in  the  cup  of  a  candlestick  showed 
how  lost  she  had  been  in  her  last  reflections.  A 
handkerchief,  wet  with  tears,  attested  the  sincerity 
of  the  Magdalen's  despair.  This  visible  repentance 
brought  a  smile  to  the  priest's  face.  Ignorant  of  how 
to  destroy  herself,  Esther  had  left  the  inner  door  open, 
unaware  that  the  air  of  the  two  rooms  needed  more 
charcoal  to  make  it  unbreathable  ;  the  fumes  had 
merely  stupefied  her;  the  fresh  air  coming  in  from 
the  staircase  brought  her  back  by  degrees  to  the  sense 
of  her  misery. 

The  priest  stood  still,  lost  in  gloomy  meditation, 
unaffected  by  the  divine  beauty  of  the  girl,  watching 
her  first  movements  as  if  she  had  been  some  animal. 
His  eyes  roved  from  this   crouching   body  to  the 


30 


Lucien  de  Eubempre. 


objects  about  the  chamber  with  apparent  indifference. 
He  looked  at  the  furniture  of  the  room,  the  red-tiled 
floor  of  which  was  barely  hidden  by  a  threadbare 
carpet.  A  small  painted  wooden  bedstead  of  an  old 
pattern,  hung  with  yellow  cotton  curtains  fastened 
back  with  red  rosettes  ;  one  armchair  and  two  com- 
mon chairs  of  the  same  painted  wood  and  covered  with 
the  same  cotton  which  also  supplied  the  curtains  for 
the  windows  ;  a  gray  paper  dotted  with  flowers  now 
blackened  by  time  and  grease  ;  a  mahogany  work- 
table  ;  a  fireplace  encumbered  with  cooking  utensils 
of  the  commonest  description  ;  two  bundles  of  firewood, 
one  half  used  ;  a  stone  chimney-piece  on  which  were 
pieces  of  glass-ware  mixed  with  jewels,  scissors,  a  dirty 
pin-cushion,  white  and  perfumed  gloves  ;  a  charming 
bonnet  thrown  on  the  water  pitcher  ;  a  Ternaux  shawl 
used  to  darken  the  window  ;  an  elegant  dress  hanging 
from  a  nail  ;  a  little  sofa,  hard,  without  cushions  ; 
shabby  broken  clogs,  delicate  little  slippers  and  dainty, 
fit  for  a  queen  ;  common  earthen-ware  plates  chipped 
and  cracked,  on  which  lay  the  remnants  of  the  last 
meal,  and  forks  and  spoons  of  German  silver  (the 
plate  of  the  poor  of  Paris),  a  basket  of  potatoes  and 
a  pile  of  soiled  linen,  above  which  hung  the  fresh,  crisp 
cap  of  a  grisette;  a  miserable  wardrobe,  open  and 
empty,  on  the  shelf  of  which  lay  a  pile  of  pawn- 
tickets, —  such  was  the  strange  collection  of  things 
lugubrious  and  things  joyous,  miserable  and  opulent, 
which  met  the  eye.  These  vestiges  of  luxury  in  the 
midst  of  dilapidation  ;  this  home  so  suggestive  of  the 
Bohemianism  of  the  girl  lying  there  in  her  huddled 
clothing,  like  a  horse  lying  dead  in  his  harness  under 


Lucien  de  Bubempré. 


31 


broken  shafts,  —  did  this  strange  spectacle  make  the 
priest  reflect?  Did  he  say  to  himself  that  this  mis- 
guided creature  must  be  disinterested  to  couple  such 
poverty  with  the  love  of  a  rich  young  man?  Did  he 
attribute  the  disorder  of  that  room  to  the  disorder  of 
her  life?  Did  he  feel  pity,  or  horror?  Was  his  charity 
stirred?  Whoso  had  seen  him,  with  crossed  arms  and 
sombre  brow,  his  lips  contracted,  his  eye  hard,  would 
have  thought  him  absorbed  in  feelings  of  hatred,  in 
reflections  that  thwarted  him,  in  projects  of  sinister 
import.  He  was,  assuredly,  insensible  to  the  beauty 
of  the  rounded  form  of  that  crouching  Venus  as  it 
showed  beneath  the  black  of  her  skirt.  The  drooping 
head,  which,  gave  to  view  as  she  lay  there  the  nape 
of  the  white,  soft,  flexible  neck,  the  beautiful  shoulders 
of  a  well  developed  physical  nature,  did  not  move  him. 
He  made  no  effort  to  raise  her  ;  he  seemed  not  to  hear 
the  gasping  breath  which  told  of  returning  life  ;  not 
until  she  gave  one  horrible  sob  and  cast  a  terrified 
glance  upon  him  did  he  deign  to  lift  her  and  carry  her 
to  the  bed,  —  with  an  ease  which  proved  his  enormous 
strength. 

"  Lucien  !  n  she  murmured. 

"  Love  returns,  the  woman  follows,"  said  the  priest 
to  himself,  with  a  sort  of  bitterness. 

The  victim  of  Parisian  depravity  now  took  notice 
of  the  dress  of  her  liberator,  and  said,  with  the  smile 
of  a  child  that  lays  its  hand  on  a  coveted  object,  "I 
shall  not  die  without  Heaven's  pardon." 

"  You  can  live  to  expiate  your  sins,"  said  the  priest, 
moistening  her  forehead  with  water,  and  making  her 
smell  a  flask  of  vinegar  he  found  on  the  chimney-piece. 


82 


Lucien  de  Rubempré. 


44 1  feel  that  life,  instead  of  leaving  me,  is  flowing 
back,"  she  said,  expressing  her  gratitude  for  this  care 
by  charming  natural  gestures.  This  winning  panto- 
mime, which  the  Graces  themselves  might  have  used 
to  allure,  justified  the  popular  name  of  this  strange 
girl. 

44  Do  you  feel  better?"  asked  the  priest,  giving  her 
a  glass  of  sugared  water. 

He  seemed  to  know  the  ways  of  such  abodes  ;  he 
moved  about  as  though  the  place  were  his.  This  priv- 
ilege of  feeling  everywhere  at  home  belongs  only  to 
kings,  prostitutes,  and  robbers. 

"  When  you  have  quite  recovered,"  said  the  priest, 
after  a  pause,  "  you  will  confess  to  me  the  reasons 
which  led  you  to  commit  this  final  crime  of  suicide." 

44  My  history  is  very  simple,"  she  answered.  44  Three 
months  ago  I  was  living  in  the  vice  to  which  I  was 
born.  I  was  the  worst  of  creatures,  the  most  infa- 
mous ;  now  I  am  only  the  most  wretched.  I  cannot 
speak  to  }7ou  of  my  mother,  who  was  murdered  —  " 

44  By  a  captain  in  a  suspected  house,"  said  the  priest, 
interrupting  his  penitent.  "  I  know  your  origin  ;  I  am 
aware  that  if  a  person  of  your  sex  can  ever  be  excused 
for  leading  a  shameful  life  it  is  you,  who  have  never 
known  a  good  example." 

44  Alas  !  "  she  said,  "  I  was  never  baptized  or  taught 
religion." 

44  All  is  not  yet  irreparable,"  replied  the  priest, 
44  provided  that  your  faith,  your  repentance,  are  sin- 
cere  and  without  reservations." 

44  Lucien  and  God  now  fill  my  heart,"  she  said, 
simply. 


Lucien  de  Ruhempré. 


33 


"  You  should  have  said  '  God  and  Lucien,'  M  replied 
the  priest,  smiling.  "  You  remind  me  of  the  object  of 
my  visit.  Relate  to  me  everything  concerning  that 
young  man." 

4  '  Do  you  come  from  him  ?  "  she  asked,  with  a  loving 
expression  which  would  have  touched  any  other  priest. 
"Oh  !  he  suspected  what  I  would  do  !  " 

"  No,"  replied  the  priest,  "it  is  not  your  death,  it 
is  3Tour  life  about  which  we  are  concerned.  Come, 
explain  to  me  your  relations." 

The  poor  girl  trembled  at  the  rough  tone  of  the 
ecclesiastic,  but  she  trembled  like  a  woman  whom 
brutality  could  not  surprise. 

"  Lucien  is  Lucien,"  she  said, —  "  the  handsomest 
young  man  and  the  best  of  living  beings  ;  but  if  you 
know  him,  my  love  must  seem  natural  to  you.  I  met 
him  by  chance  three  months  ago,  at  the  Porte-Saint- 
Martin,  where  I  had  gone  on  one  of  my  days  out  ;  for 
we  always  had  one  day  in  the  week  at  Madame  Mey- 
nardie's,  where  I  lived.  The  next  day  I  left  without 
permission.  Love  had  entered  my  heart,  and  had  so 
changed  me  that  when  I  returned  from  the  theatre  I 
did  not  know  myself  ;  I  felt  a  horror  for  myself. 
Never  has  Lucien  known  what  I  have  been.  Instead 
of  telling  him  where  I  lived  I  gave  him  the  address  of 
these  lodgings,  which  a  friend  gave  up  to  me.  I  give 
you  my  sacred  word  —  " 

"  Do  not  swear." 

"Is  it  swearing  to  give  my  sacred  word?  Well, 
then,  since  that  day  I  have  worked  in  this  room  mak- 
ing shirts  at  twenty-eight  sous  apiece  that  I  might 
live  by  honest  work.    For  a  month  I  ate  nothing  but 


34 


Lucien  de  Rubempré. 


potatoes,  to  stay  virtuous  and  worthy  of  Lucien,  who 
loves  me  and  respects  me  as  the  most  innocent  of  the 
innocent.  I  have  made  my  declaration  in  form  to  the 
police  to  recover  my  legal  rights,  and  I  have  put  my- 
self under  two  years'  surveillance.  They  who  are  so 
ready  to  inscribe  us  on  the  registers  of  infamy  make 
every  difficulty  before  they  will  scratch  us  off.  All  I 
prayed  for  was  that  Heaven  would  strengthen  my  reso- 
lution. I  shall  be  nineteen  in  April  ;  there 's  hope  at 
that  age.  It  seems  to  me  that  I  was  only  born  three 
months  ago.  I  prayed  to  God  every  morning,  and 
begged  him  to  grant  that  Lucien  might  never  know 
my  former  life.  I  bought  that  Virgin  you  see  there  ; 
I  pray  to  her  as  best  I  can,  for  I  don't  know  any 
prayers.  I  don't  even  know  how  to  read  or  write  ;  I 
have  never  entered  a  church,  and  I 've  never  seen  the 
good  God  except  in  processions,  out  of  curiosity." 

"  What  do  you  say  to  the  Virgin? " 

"  I  speak  to  her  as  I  do  to  Lucien,  with  outbursts 
from  my  soul  that  make  him  weep." 

"  Ah  !  he  weeps? " 

"  With  joy,"  she  said,  eagerly.  "  Poor  darling!  we 
understand  each  other  so  well  that  we  have  but  one 
soul.  He  is  so  gentle,  so  caressing,  so  sweet  of  heart, 
of  mind,  of  manners.  He  says  he  is  a  poet  ;  but  I  say 
he  is  a  god.  Ah,  forgive  me  !  but  you  priests,  you 
don't  know  what  love  is.  There 's  none  but  us  who 
know  men  well  enough  to  judge  what  Lucien  is.  A 
Lucien  is  as  rare  as  a  woman  without  sin  ;  when  we 
meet  him  we  can  do  nothing  else  but  love  him  —  there  ! 
So  I  wanted  to  be  worthy  of  being  loved  by  my  Lucien  ; 
there  lies  my  misery.    Last  night,  at  the  Opera,  I  was 


Lucien  de  Buhempre. 


35 


recognized  by  some  young  men  who  have  no  more 
heart  than  a  tiger  has  pity  ;  I  could  manage  a  tiger. 
My  veil  of  innocence  fell  from  me  ;  their  laughs  cut  to 
my  head  and  heart.  Do  not  think  that  you  have  saved 
me  ;  I  shall  die  of  grief." 

"  Your  veil  of  innocence?"  said  the  priest.  "  Then 
you  have  treated  Lucien  with  the  utmost  rigor  ?  " 

"Oh,  father,  you  who  know  him,  how  can  you  ask 
me  that  question?    Who  shall  resist  a  god?" 

"  Do  not  blaspheme,"  said  the  ecclesiastic,  in  a  gen- 
tler voice.  "  No  man  resembles  God.  Such  exagger- 
ation ill  becomes  a  veritable  love.  You  do  not  love 
your  idol  with  a  pure  and  true  love.  If  you  had  really 
experienced  the  change  you  boast  of,  you  would  have 
acquired  those  virtues  which  are  the  attributes  of  youth 
and  innocence  ;  you  would  know  the  delights  of  chas- 
tity, the  delicacies  of  female  modesty,  —  those  glories 
of  a  young  girl.    You  do  not  love." 

Esther  made  a  gesture  of  terror,  which  the  priest 
saw;  but  it  did  not  shake  the  impassibility  of  a 
confessor. 

"  Yes,  you  love  for  yourself,  and  not  for  him,  —  for 
the  temporal  pleasures  which  charm  you,  not  for  love's 
sake  in  itself.  If  you  take  love  so,  you  are  devoid  of 
that  sacred  tremor  inspired  by  a  being  on  whom  God 
has  laid  the  seal  of  adorable  perfections.  Have 
you  reflected  that  you  degrade  Lucien  by  your  past 
impurity  ;  that  you  corrupt  his  youth  by  those  appal- 
ling delights  which  have  given  you  your  name  of  in- 
famy? You  have  been  inconsistent  with  yourself  in 
this  passion  of  a  day." 

"  Of  a  day  !  "  she  said,  raising  her  eyes. 


ft6  Lucien  de  JRubempre, 

"  By  what  name  do  you  call  a  love  which  is  not 
eternal  ;  which  can  never  unite  us  in  the  Christian's 
future  with  the  one  we  love?" 

"Ah,  I  waut  to  be  a  Christian!"  she  cried,  in  a 
muffled,  violent  tone,  which  must  have  won  for  her  the 
mercy  of  our  Saviour. 

"Is  a  girl  who  has  never  received  the  baptism  of 
the  Church,  nor  that  of  knowledge,  who  can  neither 
read  nor  write  nor  pray,  who  cannot  take  one  step 
without  the  very  pavements  rising  up  to  accuse  her, — 
a  girl  remarkable  only  for  the  fugitive  privilege  of  a 
beauty  which  disease  may  take  away  from  her  to- 
morrow ;  is  it  this  creature,  disgraced,  degraded,  and 
who  knows  her  degradation  (ignorant  and  less  loving 
you  might  have  been  more  excusable),  —  is  it  this  fu- 
ture prey  of  suicide  and  hell  who  is  fit  to  be  the  wife 
of  Lucien  de  Rubempré  ?  " 

Each  sentence  was  the  thrust  of  a  dagger  to  the 
depths  of  her  heart.  At  each  sentence  the  swelling 
sobs,  the  flowing  tears  of  the  despairing  creature 
proved  the  force  with  which  light  was  entering  into  a 
mind  as  untutored  as  that  of  a  savage  ;  into  a  soul  at 
last  awakened  ;  into  a  nature  upon  which  depravity 
had  spread  a  layer  of  muddy  ice,  now  melting  in  the 
sun  of  truth. 

"  Why  did  I  not  die  !  "  was  the  sole  idea  that  she 
uttered  from  the  midst  of  the  torrent  of  ideas  which 
streamed  through  her  brain  and  ravaged  it. 

"  Daughter,"  said  the  terrible  judge,  "  there  is  a 
love  which  is  never  confessed  before  men,  the  aspira- 
tions of  which  are  received  by  the  angels  with  smiles 
of  joy." 


Lucien  de  Bubemjpré. 


"What  love?" 

"  Love  without  hope  when  it  inspires  the  life,  when 
it  puts  into  life  the  principle  of  self-sacrifice,  when  it 
ennobles  all  acts  by  the  desire  of  attaining  to  ideal 
perfection.  Yes,  the  angels  rejoice  in  that  love,  for  it 
leads  to  a  knowledge  of  God.  To  strive  for  perfection 
that  you  may  be  worthy  of  him  you  love  ;  to  make  a 
thousand  secret  sacrifices  for  him  ;  to  adore  him  from 
afar  ;  to  give  drop  by  drop  your  blood  ;  to  immolate 
to  him  your  self-love  ;  to  have  no  pride  or  anger  toward 
him;  to  spare  him  even  the  knowledge  of  the  jealousy 
he  rouses  in  the  heart  ;  to  give  him  all  he  wishes,  be  it 
to  our  own  detriment  ;  to  love  what  he  loves  ;  to  have 
our  face  turned  ever  to  him  that  we  may  follow  him 
without  his  knowledge,  —  such  love  Heaven  would  have 
pardoned  you  ;  it  offends  neither  divine  nor  human  laws  ; 
it  leads  to  other  paths  than  your  vile  pleasures." 

As  she  listened  to  this  dreadful  sentence  (and  in 
what  tones  was  it  uttered  !)  Esther  was  seized  with 
a  not  unnatural  mistrust.  The  words  were  like  the 
thunder-clap  that  precedes  a  storm.  She  looked  at  the 
priest  ;  her  entrails  were  wrung  by  that  awful  grip 
which  seizes  the  most  courageous  in  face  of  sudden 
and  imminent  danger.  No  glance  could  read  what  was 
then  passing  in  the  soul  of  that  man,  but  the  boldest 
would  have  known  there  was  more  to  fear  than  to  hope 
in  the  aspect  of  his  eyes,  —  formerly  clear  and  yellow  as 
those  of  tigers,  but  on  which  austerities  or  privations 
had  thrown  a  mist  like  that  we  see  on  far  horizons  in 
the  dog-days,  when  the  earth  is  hot  and  luminous  but 
so  vaporous  that  it  becomes  almost  invisible.  Deep 
folds  of  the  flesh,  to  which  countless  pits  of  the  small- 


38 


Lucien  de  Rubempré. 


pox  gave  an  appearance  of  ragged  ruts,  ploughed  up 
the  sallow  skin  which  seemed  to  have  been  baked  by 
the  sun.  The  harshness  of  this  countenance  came 
out  the  more  because  it  was  framed  by  the  neglected 
wig  of  a  priest  who  cares  no  longer  for  his  person,  —  a 
dilapidated  wig  of  a  rusty  black  in  the  sunshine.  His 
athletic  chest,  his  hands  like  those  of  an  old  veteran, 
his  powerful  torso  and  strong  shoulders  resembled  those 
of  the  caryatides  which  artists  of  the  middle  ages  em- 
ployed in  certain  Italian  palaces,  an  imperfect  repro- 
duction of  which  may  be  seen  in  the  façade  of  the 
theatre  of  the  Porte-Saiut-Martin. 

The  least  clear-sighted  person  would  have  thought 
that  hot  passions  or  uncommon  events  had  cast 
this  man  into  the  bosom  of  the  Church.  Certainly, 
some  awful  thunderbolt  could  alone  have  changed  him 
—  if  indeed  such  a  being  is  susceptible  of  change. 
Women  who  have  led  the  life  now  so  violently  repudi- 
ated by  Esther  soon  reach  an  absolute  indifference  to 
the  external  form  of  men.  They  are  like  the  literary 
critic  of  the  present  day,  who  may,  under  certain 
aspects,  be  compared  with  them,  for  he  reaches,  after 
a  while,  a  profound  indifference  to  the  formulas  of  art. 
He  has  read  so  many  books  ;  he  sees  so  many  come 
and  go  ;  he  has  so  accustomed  himself  to  written 
pages  ;  he  has  endured  so  many  plots,  seen  so  many 
dramas,  made  so  many  articles  without  saying  what 
he  thought  ;  betrayed  so  often  the  cause  of  art  in 
favor  of  his  friendships  and  his  enmities,  —  that  he 
reaches  at  last  a  stage  of  disgust  for  all  things,  though 
he  goes  on  judging  nevertheless.  It  needs  a  miracle 
to  make  that  man  produce  real  work,  —  just  as  a  pure 


Lucien  de  JRuhempré. 


39 


and  noble  love  can  only  dawn  through  a  miracle  in  the 
heart  of  a  courtesan. 

The  tone  and  manners  of  this  priest,  who  seemed  to 
have  stepped  out  of  a  canvas  of  Zurburan,  appeared 
so  hostile  to  the  poor  girl,  to  whom  outward  appear- 
ance was  of  no  consequence,  that  she  fancied  herself 
less  the  object  of  his  solicitude  than  the  necessary  in- 
strument of  some  plan.  Without  being  able  to  mentally 
distinguish  between  the  arguments  of  self-interest  and 
the  unction  of  charity  (for  we  must  be  on  the  watch 
indeed  to  detect  the  false  coin  that  is  given  by  a  friend) , 
she  instinctively  felt  herself  in  the  talons  of  some  mon- 
strous and  ferocious  bird  of  prey,  swooping  down  upon 
her  after  circling  for  a  time  in  the  air.  In  her  terror, 
she  said  in  a  piteous  voice  :  k'I  thought  that  priests 
were  meant  to  comfort  us,  but  you  torture  me." 

At  this  cry  of  anguish  the  priest  made  a  gesture  and 
paused  ;  he  collected  himself  before  replying.  During 
that  moment  these  two  persons  so  singularly  brought 
together  examined  each  other  furtively.  The  priest 
understood  the  woman,  but  the  woman  could  not  un- 
derstand the  priest.  During  that  pause  he  must  have 
renounced  some  plan  which  threatened  poor  Esther,  and 
returned  to  his  first  intentions. 

"  We  are  physicians  of  the  soul,"  he  said  in  a 
gentle  voice;  "we  know  what  remedies  are  needed 
for  its  ills." 

"  Much  should  be  forgiven  to  misery,"  said  Esther. 

She  thought  she  had  been  mistaken,  and  so  thinking, 
she  slid  from  her  bed  and  knelt  at  the  feet  of  that  man, 
kissed  his  cassock  in  deep  humility,  and  raised  her  eyes 
bathed  in  tears  to  his  face. 


40 


Lucien  de  Rubemprê. 


"  I  thought  I  had  done  much,"  she  said. 

"  Listen,  my  daughter  ;  your  fatal  reputation  has 
plunged  Lucien's  family  into  mourning.  They  fear, 
with  some  justice,  that  you  will  entice  him  to  dissipa- 
tion, to  reckless  follies  —  " 

"  True,  true,"  she  said  ;  "it  was  I  who  took  him  to 
the  ball  last  night  —  " 

"  You  are  beautiful  enough  to  make  him  wish  to 
exhibit  you  before  the  eyes  of  the  world  ;  he  would 
take  pride  in  showing  you,  as  he  would  a  fine  riding- 
horse.  If  only  his  money  were  spent  upon  you,  —  but 
he  will  spend  his  time,  his  strength  ;  he  will  become 
indifferent  to  the  noble  prospects  preparing  for  him. 
Instead  of  being  —  as  he  can  be  some  day  —  an  am- 
bassador, rich,  admired,  famous,  he  will  become  like 
so  many  other  debauched  men  who  have  drowned  their 
talents  in  the  mud  of  Paris  for  the  love  of  an  impure 
woman.  As  for  you,  sooner  or  later,  you  would  re- 
turn to  your  former  life,  having  risen  for  a  moment 
only  to  a  higher  sphere,  for  you  have  not  in  you  that 
inner  strength  given  by  education  to  resist  vice  and 
think  of  the  future.  You  have  no  more  really  parted 
from  your  former  companions  than  you  have  from 
those  young  men  who  shamed  you  at  the  Opera  last 
night.  Lucien's  true  friends,  alarmed  at  the  love  you 
have  inspired  in  him,  have  followed  his  steps  and  have 
learned  all.  Full  of  anxiety,  they  have  sent  me  here 
to  you  to  learn  your  intentions  and  decide  your  fate  ; 
for  while  they  are  powerful  enough  to  remove  this  ob- 
stacle to  the  young  man's  career,  they  are  also  merciful. 
Know  this,  my  daughter  :  a  woman  beloved  by  Lucien 
has  claims  to  their  respect  ;  the  true  Christian  wor- 


Lucien  de  Hubemjpré. 


41 


ships  the  mire  upon  which  by  chance  the  divine  light 
shines.  I  have  come  here  as  the  agent  of  their  benev- 
olent thoughts.  Had  I  found  you  wholly  wicked,  bold, 
crafty,  corrupt  to  the  marrow  of  your  bones,  and  deaf 
to  the  voice  of  repentance,  I  should  have  abandoned 
you  to  their  just  anger.  The  liberation,  civil  and  po- 
litical, which  you  say  you  have  found  so  difficult  to 
obtain,  —  and  which  the  police  do  right  to  withhold  in 
the  interests  of  Society  itself,  —  the  release,  which  I 
have  just  heard  you  long  for  with  the  earnestness  of 
true  repentance,  is  here,"  said  the  priest,  drawing  from 
his  belt  an  official  paper.  "  You  applied  only  yester- 
day, and  this  paper  is  dated  to-day.  Judge  from  that 
how  powerful  are  the  persons  who  watch  over  Lucien's 
interests." 

At  sight  of  that  paper  the  convulsive  tremblings  of 
an  unexpected  joy  shook  poor  Esther,  and  overcame 
her  so  ingenuously  that  a  fixed  smile  rested  on  her  lips 
like  that  of  idiocy.  The  priest  paused,  looked  atten- 
tively at  the  girl  to  see  if,  when  deprived  of  the  hor- 
rible strength  which  such  corrupted  creatures  gain 
from  their  corruption  itself,  and  returned  to  her  frail 
and  delicate  primitive  nature,  she  could  bear  the  strain 
of  so  many  impressions.  As  a  courtesan  Esther  could 
have  played  the  comedy  ;  but  restored  to  innocence  and 
truth  she  might  die  of  it,  —  just  as  a  blind  man  ope- 
rated upon  has  been  known  to  lose  his  recovered  sight 
by  the  too  rapid  admission  of  the  daylight.  The  priest 
saw  at  this  moment  human  nature  to  its  depths  ;  but 
he  remained  in  a  calmness  that  was  awful  from  its 
fixity.  He  stood  there  a  cold  alp,  white,  and  reaching 
to  the  skies  ;  lofty,  inalterable,  with  granite  sides,  and 


42 


Lucien  de  Rubempré. 


yet  beneficent.  Prostitutes  are  beings  essentially  fitful, 
who  pass  without  reason  from  the  most  dogged  distrust 
to  unlimited  confidence  ;  in  this  respect,  they  are  lower 
than  animals.  Extreme  in  everything,  in  their  joy  and 
their  despair,  their  religion  and  their  irreligion,  most 
of  them  would  eventually  become  insane  were  it  not 
for  the  decimating  mortality  which  is  peculiar  to  them, 
and  the  few  happy  chances  which  raise  some  few  among 
them  from  the  slough  in  which  they  live. 

To  penetrate  the  misery  of  that  dreadful  life,  one 
must  have  seen  how  far  the  poor  creatures  can  go  into 
madness  without  remaining  there  ;  and  the  violent 
ecstasy  of  La  Torpille  kneeling  at  the  priest's  feet 
may  give  some  idea  of  it.  She  looked  at  the  liberating 
paper  with  an  expression  forgotten  by  Dante,  for  it 
surpassed  the  revelations  of  the  Inferno.  But  reaction 
came  with  her  tears.  Esther  rose,  cast  her  arms  around 
the  priest's  neck,  laid  her  head  upon  his  breast,  kissing 
the  coarse  cloth  that  covered  that  heart  of  steel  as 
though  she  would  force  her  way  to  it.  She  seized  his 
hands  and  kissed  them  ;  she  used,  unconsciously, 
in  the  fervor  of  her  gratitude,  the  cajolery  of  ca- 
resses, lavishing  sweet  names  upon  him,  and  crying 
out,  amid  these  honeyed  sentences,  "Give  it  to  me! 
Give  it  to  me  !  Give  it  to  me  !  "  with  a  hundred  differ- 
ent intonations.  She  happed  him  with  her  tenderness  ; 
she  held  him  by  her  eyes  with  an  eagerness  that  left 
him  no  defence,  until  at  last  she  benumbed  his  anger. 
The  priest  knew  then  how  and  why  she  had  obtained 
her  name.  He  comprehended  how  impossible  it  was  to 
withstand  the  love  of  such  a  being  ;  he  divined  Lucien's 
love,  and  all  that  had  seduced  the  poet  in  him. 


Lucien  de  Bubempré. 


43 


Such  a  passion  hides,  amid  a  thousand  charms,  a 
barbed  hook  which  fastens,  above  all,  upon  the  soul 
of  an  artist.  These  passions,  inexplicable  to  the  many, 
are  perfectly  explained  by  the  thirst  for  the  beau  idéal 
■which  distinguishes  creative  beings.  Is  it  not  creat- 
ing to  purify  such  a  creature?  What  enticement  it 
offers  to  bring  moral  beauty  and  physical  beauty  into 
harmony  !  What  joy  of  pride  if  successful  !  What  a 
noble  task  is  that  which  has  no  instrument  but  love  ! 
These  alliances,  illustrated  in  the  lives  of  Aristotle, 
Socrates,  Plato,  Alcibiades,  Pompey,  and  so  monstrous 
in  the  eyes  of  the  many,  are  founded  on  the  same  sen- 
timent as  that  which  led  Louis  XIV.  to  build  Versailles  ; 
which  drives  men  into  ruinous  enterprises,  converts 
miasmatic  swamps  into  flowery  mounds  surrounded 
by  flowing  waters,  puts  lakes  at  the  top  of  hills,  as 
did  the  Prince  de  Conti  at  Xointel,  or  transports  Swiss 
scenery  to  Cassan,  as  did  Bergeret  the  farmer-general. 
It  is  Art  making  irruption  into  the  domain  of  Morals. 

The  priest,  ashamed  of  having  yielded  to  any  gen- 
tleness, pushed  the  girl  hastily  away.  She  sat  down, 
mortified,  for  he  said,  harshly,  4 'You  are  a  courtesan, 
and  will  always  be  one." 

Then  he  replaced  the  letter  in  his  belt.  Like  a  child, 
which  has  but  one  desire  in  its  head,  Esther  never 
ceased  to  gaze  at  the  place  in  the  belt  where  the  paper 
lay. 

44  My  child,"  said  the  priest,  after  a  pause,  44  your 
mother  was  a  Jewess,  and  you  have  never  been  bap- 
tized ;  but  neither  have  you  ever  been  taken  to  the 
synagogue.  You  are  in  the  religious  limbo  of  a  little 
child  —  " 


44 


Lucien  de  Rubempré. 


"  A  little  child  !  "  she  said,  softly. 

"  Just  as  you  are  a  mere  number  on  the  registers  of 
the  police,  outside  of  all  other  social  beings,"  contin- 
ued the  impassible  priest.  "  If  love,  seen  by  a  snatch 
of  fancy,  made  you  believe  three  months  ago  that  you 
were  born  again,  you  must  surely  feel  that  since  that 
day  you  are  still  in  childhood.  You  must  let  yourself 
be  guided  as  though  you  were  indeed  a  child  ;  you 
must  change  yourself  wholly,  and  I  will  take  upon  me 
to  make  you  unrecognizable.  But,  first,  you  must 
forget  Lucien." 

The  poor  girl's  heart  was  broken  by  the  sentence  ; 
she  raised  her  eyes  to  the  priest  and  made  a  sign  of 
negation  ;  she  was  incapable  of  speech,  perceiving 
once  more  the  executioner  in  the  deliverer. 

"  You  must  renounce  the  sight  of  him,  at  least,"  he 
continued.  "  I  shall  place  you  in  a  religious  establish- 
ment where  young  girls  of  the  best  families  receive 
their  education.  You  will  become  a  Catholic,  and  you 
will  be  instructed  in  the  practice  of  Christian  duty  ; 
you  will  learn  religion.  After  that  you  will  leave  the 
place  a  virtuous  young  girl,  chaste,  pure,  and  well 
trained,  if  —  " 

He  paused  and  raised  his  finger. 

"  If,"  he  resumed,  "you  feel  the  strength  to  leave 
behind  you,  here,  the  Torpille." 

"  Ah!"  cried  the  poor  thing,  to  whom  each  word 
had  seemed  like  a  note  of  music,  at  the  sound  of  which 
the  gates  of  Paradise  were  slowly  opening.  "Ah  !  if 
it  were  only  possible  to  pour  out,  here,  all  my  blood 
and  take  another  —  " 

"  Listen  to  me." 


Lucien  de  Rubempré.  45 


She  was  silent. 

"  Your  future  depends  on  your  power  of  forgetting. 
Reflect  on  the  obligations  you  will  have  upon  you. 
One  word,  one  gesture  that  betrays  the  Torpille  puts 
an  end  forever  to  your  being  Lucien's  wife  ;  a  word 
said  in  a  dream,  an  involuntary  thought,  an  immodest 
look,  an  impatient  motion,  a  recollection  of  the  past,  a 
sign  of  the  head  which  reveals  what  you  know  or  what 
others  have  known  to  your  disgrace  —  " 

"Ah,  father!"  cried  the  girl  with  sacred  enthusi- 
asm, "to  walk  on  red-hot  iron  and  smile,  to  wear  a 
corset  armed  with  spikes  and  dance,  to  eat  my  bread 
mingled  with  ashes,  and  drink  wormwood,  all,  all  would 
be  sweet,  easy  !  " 

She  fell  again  on  her  knees  and  kissed  his  shoes,  her 
tears  moistened  them  ;  she  clung  to  his  legs,  murmur- 
ing senseless  words  amid  the  tears  that  joy  had  brought. 
Her  beautiful  fair  hair  lay  like  a  carpet  at  the  feet  of  this 
celestial  messenger  ;  then,  rising,  she  looked  at  him 
and  saw  how  hard  and  stern  he  was. 

"Have  I  offended  you?"  she  said,  all  trembling. 
"  I  have  heard  of  a  woman  like  me  who  washed  the 
feet  of  Jesus  Christ  with  perfumes.  Alas  !  virtue  has 
made  me  poor  ;  I  have  only  tears  to  give." 

"  Did  you  not  hear  me?"  he  replied  in  a  cruel  voice. 
"I  told  you  that  you  must  leave  the  house  where  I 
shall  now  place  you  so  changed  physically  and  morally 
that  none  who  ever  knew  you  can  call  '  Esther/  to  your 
shame.  Last  night,  the  love  you  boast  of  had  noj 
given  you  the  power  to  bury  the  prostitute  so  that  she 
could  never  reappear  ;  no  other  worship  than  that  of 
God  will  hide  her  forever." 


46 


Lucien  de  Rubempré. 


44  God  has  sent  you  to  me,"  she  said. 

44  If,  during  your  education,  Lucien  discovers  you, 
all  is  lost,"  he  resumed  ;  "  remember  that." 

44  Who  will  console  him?"  she  whispered. 

44  For  what  have  you  ever  consoled  him?  "  asked  the 
priest,  in  a  voice  through  which,  for  the  first  time,  was 
heard  a  tremor. 

."I  do  not  know,"  she  answered,  "but  he  is  often 
sad." 

44  Sad  !  "  repeated  the  priest  ;  44  has  he  not  told  you 
why?" 

44  Never,"  she  said. 

44  He  is  sad  because  he  loves  a  creature  like  you/' 
he  cried. 

44  Alas!  he  may  well  be,"  she  answered  with  deep 
humility.  44  I  am  the  most  despicable  creature  of  my 
sex  ;  I  could  only  find  favor  in  his  eyes  by  the  force 
of  my  love." 

44  That  love  should  give  you  courage  to  obey  me 
blindly.  If  I  took  you  immediately  to  the  house  where 
your  education  will  be  given  to  you,  all  the  people  here 
would  tell  Lucien  that  you  had  gone  with  a  priest,  and 
he  might  trace  you.  Therefore,  this  day  week,  after 
my  visit  is  forgotten,  leave  the  house  alone  at  seven 
in  the  evening,  and  enter  a  hackney-coach,  which  I 
will  send  to  the  corner  of  the  rue  des  Frondeurs. 
During  this  week  avoid  seeing  Lucien  ;  find  some  pre- 
text to  keep  him  away  ;  but  if  he  comes,  go  to  a 
friend's  room.  I  shall  know  if  you  see  him.  If  you 
do,  all  is  at  an  end  ;  you  will  not  see  me  again.  You 
will  need  these  eight  days  to  give  you  a  decent  outfit," 
he  added,  laying  a  purse  upon  the  table.  "  In  your  air, 


Lucien  de  Buhempré. 


47 


in  your  clothes,  there  is  that  unspeakable  something 
so  well  known  to  all  Parisians  which  reveals  what  you 
have  been.  Have  you  never  met  in  the  streets  or  on 
the  boulevards  a  modest,  virtuous  young  girl  walking 
with  her  mother  ?  " 

"  Yes,  to  my  sorrow!  The  sight  of  a  mother  with 
her  daughter  is  the  greatest  of  our  punishments  ;  it 
stirs  the  remorse  which  is  lurking  in  our  minds.  It 
tortures  us.  I  know  but  too  well  what  is  needful 
for  me." 

"  Very  good  ;  then  you  know  how  you  ought  to  look 
on  Sunday  next,"  said  the  priest,  rising. 

"  Oh,  wait,"  she  said  ;  "  teach  me  a  real  prayer  be- 
fore you  go,  —  that  I  may  pray  to  God." 

It  was  a  moving  thing  to  see  the  priest  teaching  the 
unfortunate  girl  to  say  the  Lord's  Prayer  and  the  "  Hail, 
Mary  "  in  her  own  language. 

"  It  is  very  beautiful,"  said  Esther,  when  she  had  at 
last  repeated  without  a  blunder  those  two  magnificent 
and  well-known  expressions  of  catholic  faith. 

"  What  is  your  name?"  she  said  to  the  priest  as  he 
bade  her  adieu. 

"Carlos  Herrera,"  he  replied.  "I  am  a  Spaniard, 
banished  from  my  country." 

Esther  took  his  hand  and  kissed  it.  She  was  no 
longer  a  courtesan,  but  an  angel  rising  from  her  fall. 


48 


Lucien  de  Eubemjpré. 


m. 

AN  INTERIOR  AS  WELL  KNOWN   TO   SOME   AS  UNKNOWN 
TO  OTHERS. 

In  an  institution  celebrated  for  the  religious  and 
aristocratic  education  which  is  there  given  to  young 
girls,  on  a  Monday  morning  early  in  the  month  of 
March,  the  pupils  noticed  that  their  charming  ranks 
were  increased  by  the  presence  of  a  new-comer,  whose 
beauty  triumphed  without  gainsayiug,  not  merely  over 
that  of  her  companions,  but  over  the  particular  beau- 
ties that  were  perfect  in  each.  In  France  it  is  ex- 
tremely rare,  not  to  say  impossible,  to  meet  with  the 
thirty  famous  perfections  described  in  Persian  verse, 
and  carved,  it  is  said,  on  the  walls  of  the  harems, — 
thirty  perfections  which  are  necessary  to  a  woman 
before  she  can  be  accounted  as  absolutely  beautiful. 
As  for  the  imposing  collection  of  beauties  which  sculp- 
ture endeavors  to  render,  and  which  she  has  rendered 
in  a  few  rare  instances,  like  the  Diana  and  the  Venus 
Callipyge,  it  is  the  privileged  possession  of  Greece 
and  Asia  Minor. 

Esther  came  from  that  cradle  of  the  human  race, 
the  native  land  of  beauty  ;  her  mother  was  a  Jewess. 
The  Jews,  though  so  often  deteriorated  by  contact 
with  other  peoples,  show  among  their  various  tribes 
strata,  or  veins,  through  which  is  still  preserved  the 


Lucien  de  Rubempré. 


49 


splendid  type  of  Asiatic  beauty.  Esther  could  have 
won  the  prize  in  a  seraglio  ;  she  possessed  the  thirty 
beauties  harmoniously  blended.  Far  from  doing  injury 
to  the  finish  of  her  form  and  the  freshness  of  its  envel- 
ope, her  peculiar  life  had  communicated  to  her  a  name- 
less something  of  the  woman,  —  a  something  that  is  no 
longer  the  smooth  closed  bud,  or  unripe  fruit,  nor  has 
it  yet  the  warm  and  glowing  tones  of  maturity  ;  the 
flower  is  still  there.  A  few  months  more  spent  in  dis- 
sipation and  she  might  have  been  too  plump.  This 
richness  of  health,  this  perfection  of  animal  life  in  a 
creature  to  whom  physical  pleasure  stood  in  place  of 
thought,  ought  to  be  an  important  fact  to  the  eyes  of 
physiologists. 

By  a  rare,  not  to  say  impossible,  circumstance  in 
very  young  girls,  her  hands,  which  were  incomparably 
noble,  were  soft,  transparent,  and  white  as  those  of  a 
woman  on  the  birth  of  her  second  child.  She  had 
precisely  the  feet  and  hair  so  justly  celebrated  in  the 
Duchesse  de  Berry,  —  hah-  which  no  coiffeur's  hand 
could  hold,  so  abundant  was  it,  and  so  long  that  when 
it  fell  to  the  ground  it  lay  there  in  circles  ;  for  Esther 
was  of  that  medium  height  which  allows  a  woman  to 
be  a  sort  of  plaything,  to  be  lifted,  and  even  carried 
without  fatigue.  Her  skin,  delicate  as  rice-paper,  of 
a  warm  amber-color,  with  rosy  veins,  shone  without 
being  dry,  and  was  soft  without  moisture.  Vigorous 
to  excess,  yet  delicate  in  appearance,  Esther  attracted 
immediate  attention  by  a  trait  remarkable  in  the  fig- 
ures which  Earraelle  has  more  artistically  outlined  than 
other  masters,  for  Earraelle  is  the  painter  who  has 
studied  most  and  rendered  best  the  Jewish  beauty. 


50 


Lucien  de  Riibempre. 


This  wonderful  trait  was  produced  by  the  depth  of  the 
space  below  the  brow,  in  which  the  eye  revolved  as  if 
detached  from  its  setting,  and  the  curve  of  which, 
clearly  defined,  was  like  the  outline  of  an  arch.  When 
youth  adorns  with  its  pure  and  diaphanous  tints  this 
beautiful  curve,  surmounted  by  eyebrows  the  spring  of 
which  is  imperceptible  ;  when  light,  gliding  along  that 
inner  circle,  takes  a  pale  rose  tint,  there  are  treasures 
of  tenderness  lying  there  to  content  a  lover,  and  be  the 
despair  of  Art.  These  luminous  folds,  in  which  the 
shadows  take  golden  tints,  this  tissue,  which  possesses 
the  consistence  of  a  nerve  and  the  flexibility  of  a  deli- 
cate membrane,  are  Nature's  highest  effort.  The  eye 
in  repose  lies  there  like  some  miraculous  egg  on  a 
couch  of  silken  fibres.  But  later  in  life  this  marvel 
turns  to  awful  melancholy,  —  when  passions  have 
charred  those  supple  outlines,  when  sorrows  have 
wrinkled  that  nest  of  fibres. 

Esther's  origin  was  plainly  seen  in  this  oriental 
placing  of  her  eyes,  which  were  fringed  with  Turkish 
lashes  ;  their  color  was  the  gray  of  slate,  changing  in 
a  strong  light  to  the  blue-black  tint  of  a  raven's  wing. 
The  extreme  tenderness  of  her  glance  could  alone 
soften  the  dazzling  light  of  it.  It  is  only  the  races 
which  have  come  from  deserts  that  possess  in  the  eye 
the  power  of  fascination  over  every  one,  —  for  all 
women  can  fascinate  some  one.  Their  eyes  retain,  no 
doubt,  something  of  the  infinite  their  race  has  con- 
templated. Did  Nature,  with  her  foresight,  furnish 
their  retinas  with  some  reflector  to  enable  them  to  bear 
the  dazzle  of  the  sand,  the  floods  of  sunlight,  the  hot 
cobalt  of  the  ether?   Do  human  beings  take,  like  other 


Lucien  de  Rubempré. 


51 


creations,  something  from  the  centres  on  which  they 
develop  and  keep  through  centuries  and  eras  that 
which  they  have  taken?  The  great  solution  of  the 
problem  of  races  lies,  perhaps,  in  this  very  question. 
Instincts  are  living  facts,  the  cause  of  which  is  in  a 
felt  necessity.  The  animal  species  are  the  result  of  the 
exercise  of  instincts.  To  convince  ourselves  of  this 
truth,  so  long  sought  after,  it  is  enough  to  apply  to 
troops  of  men  the  observation  recently  made  on  flocks 
of  Spanish  and  English  sheep,  which,  on  the  level 
meadows  where  grass  is  plentiful,  feed  closely  pressed 
together,  but  disperse  upon  the  hillsides  where  grass  is 
scarce  Transport  these  two  species  of  sheep  from 
their  own  land  to  France  or  Switzerland,  and  you  will 
find  the  hill  sheep  feeding  apart  on  the  plain,  and  the 
plain  sheep  huddling  closely  together  on  an  alp.  Even 
many  generations  will  scarcely  change  acquired  and 
transmitted  instincts.  At  the  end  of  a  hundred  years 
the  mountain  spirit  will  reappear  in  refractory  lambs, 
just  as,  after  eighteen  hundred  years  of  banishment, 
the  East  shone  in  the  eyes  and  in  the  face  of  Esther  - 
The  glance  of  those  eyes  exerted  no  terrible  fascina- 
tion. It  cast  a  gentle  warmth  ;  it  moved  to  tender- 
ness without  startling  ;  the  hardest  wills  were  melted 
in  that  soft  glow.  Esther  vanquished  hatred  ;  she 
had  magnetized  the  depraved  of  Paris.  It  was  this 
glance  and  her  soft,  smooth  skin  which  had  won  her 
the  terrible  nickname,  the  revelation  of  which  had  sent 
her  to  seek  the  grave.  All  else  about  her  was  in  har- 
mony with  these  characteristics  of  the  Peri  of  the 
deserts.  Her  forehead  was  resolute,  and  proud  in 
form  ;  her  nose,  like  that  of  the  Arabs,  delicate,  thin, 


52 


Lucien  de  Riibciwprê. 


with  oval  nostrils  well-placed  and  turning  upward  at 
the  edges.  Her  fresh,  red  mouth  was  like  a  rose  un- 
blighted  ;  the  orgies  of  her  life  had  left  no  trace  upon 
it.  The  chin,  modelled  as  if  some  loving  sculptor  had 
polished  its  contour,  was  white  as  milk.  One  only 
thing,  which  betrayed  the  courtesan  who  had  fallen 
low,  she  had  been  unable  to  remedy,  —  her  split  and 
defaced  nails  needed  time  to  recover  their  naturally 
elegant  shape,  deformed  by  the  commonest  work  of 
the  household. 

The  pupils  began  by  feeling  jealous  of  these  miracles 
of  beauty,  but  they  ended  by  admiring  them.  A  week 
had  not  gone  by  before  they  attached  themselves  to 
the  simple,  natural  Esther  ;  they  were  interested  in 
the  secret  misfortunes  of  a  girl  who,  at  eighteen  years 
of  age,  could  neither  read  nor  write  ;  to  whom  all 
knowledge  and  all  instruction  were  new  things  ;  and 
who  was  about  to  procure  for  the  archbishop  the  glory 
of  a  conversion  from  Judaism  to  Christianity,  and  for 
the  convent  the  pleasures  of  a  baptismal  fête.  They 
forgave  her  beauty,  knowing  themselves  her  superiors 
by  education.  Esther  soon  acquired  the  manners,  the 
soft  voice,  the  carriage,  the  attitudes  of  these  well- 
bred  young  girls  ;  in  fact,  she  recovered  her  original 
nature.  The  change  was  so  complete  that,  on  the 
occasion  of  his  first  visit,  Herrera  was  amazed,  he 
whom  nothing  in  the  world  seemed  ever  to  surprise  ; 
and  the  superiors  of  the  convent  congratulated  him  on 
his  ward.  These  women  had  never,  in  their  career  of 
teaching,  met  with  a  more  lovable  nature,  more  Chris- 
tian meekness,  a  truer  modesty,  and  so  great  a  desire 
for  instruction.    When  a  girl  has  suffered  the  evils 


Lucien  de  Bubemprê. 


53 


which  had  overwhelmed  this  poor  creature,  and  she 
looks  for  such  a  recompense  as  that  the  Spaniard  had 
offered  to  Esther,  it  would  be  strange  if  she  did  not 
renew  the  miracles  of  the  early  Church,  which  the 
Jesuits  are  now  reviving  in  Paraguay. 

"  She  is  edifying,"  said  the  superior,  kissing  her  on 
the  forehead. 

That  expression,  which  is  essentially  catholic,  tells 
all. 

During  the  recreation  hours  Esther  questioned  her 
companions,  though  reservedly,  on  the  simplest  things 
of  their  social  life,  which  to  her  were  like  the  first  won- 
ders of  existence  to  an  infant.  When  told  she  was  to 
wear  white  on  the  day  of  her  baptism  and  her  first 
communion,  white  ribbons,  white  shoes,  a  white  badge, 
she  burst  into  tears,  to  the  amazement  of  her  comrades. 
It  was  the  reversal  of  the  scene  of  Jephthah  on  the 
mountain.  But  Esther  was  afraid  of  being  suspected, 
and  she  ascribed  this  strange  distress  to  the  joy  the 
mere  thought  of  the  ceremony  caused  her.  The  gulf 
between  the  habits  and  morals  she  was  quitting  and 
those  she  sought  to  take  was  greater  even  than  that 
between  civilization  and  a  state  of  barbarism  ;  and 
Esther  had  the  natural  grace  and  naïveté  and  also  the 
depth  of  nature  which  characterizes  the  wonderful 
heroine  of  the  "Puritans  of  America."  But  she  had 
also,  without  being  aware  of  it  herself,  a  love  in  her 
heart  which  was  gnawing  it  ;  a  strong  love,  a  desire 
more  violent  in  her  who  knew  all  than  it  is  in  any 
virgin  heart  that  knows  nothing,  though  these  desires 
may  have  the  same  cause  and  the  same  object. 

During  the  first  few  months  the  novelty  of  a  c\oi» 


54 


Lucien  de  Bubempre. 


tered  life,  the  surprises  of  her  education,  the  work  she 
learned  to  do,  the  exercises  of  religion,  the  fervor  of 
her  sacred  resolution,  the  sweetness  of  the  affections 
she  inspired,  in  short,  the  employment  of  the  faculties 
of  an  awakened  intellect,  all  assisted  in  repressing  her 
memories,  even  the  efforts  of  the  new  memory  she  was 
acquiring  ;  for  she  had  as  much  to  unlearn  as  to  learn. 
Several  memories  are  in  us  :  body  and  mind  have  each 
a  memory.  Nostalgia,  for  example,  is  a  disease  of 
the  physical  memory.  After  the  first  three  months, 
the  vigor  of  this  virgin  soul  which  was  stretching  with 
outspread  wings  toward  heaven,  was  not  conquered, 
but  shackled  by  a  dumb  resistance  the  cause  of  which 
was  unknown  to  Esther  herself.  Like  the  sheep  of 
Scotland  she  wanted  to  browse  apart  ;  she  could  not 
vanquish  the  instincts  developed  by  debauchery.  The 
muddy  streets  of  the  Paris  she  had  abjured  called  to 
her.  Did  the  chains  of  her  horrible  broken  habits  still 
hold  to  her  by  some  forgotten  link  ?  Did  she  feel  them 
as  surgeons  say  old  soldiers  suffer  in  the  limbs  that 
have  long  been  amputated?  Had  vice  and  its  ex- 
cesses so  penetrated  to  the  marrow  of  her  bones  that 
the  holy  waters  had  not  yet  touched  the  hidden  demon? 
Was  the  sight  of  him  for  whom  she  was  making  so 
many  angelic  efforts  necessary  to  one  whom  God  must 
surely  pardon  for  mingling  human  love  with  sacred 
love?  The  one  had  led  to  the  other.  Did  there 
occur  in  her  a  displacement  of  the  vital  force  which 
brought  with  it  inevitable  suffering?  All  is  doubt 
and  darkness  in  a  situation  which  those  who  have 
knowledge  refuse  to  examine,  considering  the  subject 
immoral  and  too  compromising,  —  as  if  the  physician, 


Lucien  de  Rubempré. 


55 


the  writer,  the  priest,  and  the  statesman,  were  not 
above  suspicion.  Nevertheless,  one  physician,  whose 
work  was  stopped  by  death,  did  have  the  courage  to 
begin  such  studies,  —  alas  !  left  incomplete. 

Perhaps  the  black  melancholy  to  which  Esther  fell 
a  prey,  which  obscured,  like  a  pall,  her  happy  life, 
shared  in  all  these  causes  ;  and  —  incapable  of  guess- 
ing its  nature  —  perhaps  she  suffered  as  the  sick  who 
are  ignorant  of  medicine  and  of  surgery  suffer.  The 
fact  is  strange  and  even  fantastic.  Abundant  and 
wholesome  nourishment  substituted  for  inflammatory 
and  detestable  food  Esther  could  not  assimilate.  A 
pure  and  regular  life  divided  between  moderate  work 
and  recreation,  put  in  place  of  a  disorderly  life  in 
which  the  pleasures  were  as  horrible  as  the  pains,  — 
this  life  was  crushing  down  the  young  pupil.  The 
cool  repose,  the  calm  of  nights  substituted  for  extreme 
fatigue  and  cruel  agitations,  caused  fever  of  which  the 
symptoms  escaped  both  the  eye  and  finger  of  the  in- 
firmary nurse.  In  short,  welfare  and  happiness  suc- 
ceeding to  evil  and  misery,  security  to  anxiety,  were 
as  fatal  to  Esther  as  her  past  wretchedness  would  have 
been  to  her  young  companions.  Born  in  corruption, 
implanted  there,  there  she  had  developed.  Her  in- 
fernal native  land  still  exercised  its  power  over  her, 
in  spite  of  the  sovereign  orders  of  her  absolute  will. 
What  she  hated  was  life  to  her  ;  what  she  loved  was 
killing  her.  Her  faith  had  become  so  ardent  that  her 
piety  rejoiced  the  hearts  about  her.  She  loved  to  pray. 
She  had  opened  her  soul  to  the  light  of  true  religion, 
which  she  received  without  effort,  without  doubt  ;  but 
in  her  the  body  thwarted  the  soul  at  every  turn. 


56 


Lucien  de  Bubempré. 


Carp  were  taken  from  a  muddy  pond  and  placed  in 
a  marble  basin  filled  with  clearest  water,  to  satisfy 
a  desire  of  Madame  de  Maintenon,  who  fed  them  with 
scraps  from  the  royal  table.  The  carp  died.  Animals 
may  be  devoted  to  man,  but  man  can  never  communi- 
cate to  them  the  leprosy  of  flattery.  A  courtier  re- 
marked upon  the  resistance  of  the  fish.  "  They  are 
like  me,"  said  the  uncrowned  queen,  "  they  regret  their 
mud."  That  saying  was  Esther's  history  at  the  period 
of  which  we  speak. 

Sometimes  the  poor  girl  was  impelled  to  wander 
restlessly  through  the  beautiful  gardens  of  the  con- 
vent ;  she  went  eagerly  from  tree  to  tree  ;  she  darted 
despairingly  into  shady  corners,  looking  for — what? 
She  did  not  know  ;  but  she  succumbed  to  the  devil, 
she  coquetted  with  the  trees,  saying  words  she  never 
uttered.  At  other  times  she  would  glide  along  the 
walls  in  the  darkness,  like  an  eel,  without  a  shawl  and 
her  shoulders  bare.  Often,  in  the  chapel  during  the 
services,  she  would  kneel  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  the 
altar  ;  those  about  her  admired  her.  Tears  came  to 
her,  but  they  were  tears  of  rage  ;  instead  of  the  sacred 
images  she  wished  to  see,  the  flaming  nights  when  she 
had  led  the  revels,  as  Habeneck  leads  a  symphony  of 
Beethoven  at  the  Conservatoire,  came  back  to  her, 
dishevelled,  furious,  brutal.  Outwardly  she  was  like 
a  virgin  who  belongs  to  earth  by  her  feminine  form 
only  ;  within,  an  imperial  Messalina  raged.  She  alone 
was  in  the  secret  of  this  struggle  of  the  devil  against 
the  angel.  When  the  superior  remarked  on  the  pains 
with  which  she  had  dressed  her  hair,  and  rebuked  her, 
she  changed  it  with  sweet  and  prompt  obedience  ;  she 


Lucien  de  Rubempré. 


57 


was  ready  to  cut  the  hair  from  her  head  if  her  mother 
ordered  it.  This  nostalgia,  for  such  it  was,  was  piti- 
fully touching  in  a  girl  who  would  rather  die  than 
return  to  her  impure  native  land. 

She  grew  pale  and  thin,  and  changed  greatly.  The 
superior  lessened  her  studies,  and  took  so  interesting  a 
pupil  to  her  own  apartment  to  question  her.  Esther 
seemed  happy  ;  took  pleasure  in  her  companions  ;  felt 
no  ill  in  any  vital  part,  —  and  yet  her  vitality  was 
attacked.  She  regretted  nothing  ;  she  desired  nothing. 
The  superior,  surprised  at  the  girl's  answers,  knew  not 
what  to  think,  seeing  her  so  evidently  the  prey  to  a 
consuming  languor.  The  physician  of  the  convent  was 
called  in  as  soon  as  the  pupil's  condition  seemed  serious  ; 
but  Esther's  previous  life  was  unknown  to  him,  and  he 
could  not  suspect  it.  The  mother  superior,  under  a 
sense  of  danger,  sent  for  the  Abbé  Herrera.  The 
Spaniard  came,  saw  Esther's  desperate  condition,  and 
said  a  few  words  in  private  to  the  physician.  After 
this  conversation  the  man  of  science  informed  the  man 
of  faith  that  the  best  remedy  would  be  to  take  the  girl 
a  journey  to  Italy.  The  abbé  would  not  consent  to 
the  journey  being  made  before  Esther's  baptism  and 
first  communion. 

"How  long  before  they  take  place?"  asked  the 
physician. 

"  A  month,"  said  the  superior. 

"  She  will  be  dead." 

"Yes,  but  in  a  state  of  grace  and  saved,"  said  the 
abbe. 

The  religious  point  governs  all  questions  political, 
civil,  and  vital,  in  Spain.    The  doctor  made  no  reply 


58 


Lucien  de  Rubemprê. 


to  the  Spaniard  ;  he  turned  to  the  mother  superior  ; 
but  the  terrible  abbé  took  him  by  the  arm  and  stopped 
him. 

"  Not  one  word,  monsieur,"  he  said. 

The  physician,  though  religious  and  monarchical, 
cast  a  look  of  tender  pity  upon  Esther.  The  girl  was 
beautiful  as  a  lily  bending  on  its  stalk. 

"  To  the  mercy  of  God,  then  !  "  he  cried  as  he  went 
away. 

The  same  day  Esther  was  taken  by  her  protector, 
the  abbé,  to  the  Rocher  de  Cancale,  for  the  desire  of 
saving  her  suggested  a  strange  expedient  to  the  priest  ; 
he  would  try  dissipation,  —  two  dissipations  :  an  excel- 
lent dinner,  which  might  recall  to  the  girl's  mind 
her  past  excesses  ;  and  the  Opera,  which  would  give 
her  worldly  images.  It  needed  all  his  overwhelming 
authority  to  induce  the  young  novice  to  enter  such 
scenes.  At  the  Opera  he  placed  her  in  a  box  where 
she  could  not  be  seen.  But  these  remedies  were  of  no 
avail  ;  the  convent  pupil  felt  a  disgust  for  the  dinner 
and  the  theatre,  a  deep  repugnance  for  what  she  did, 
and  fell  back  into  sadness. 

"  She  is  dying  of  love  for  Lucien,"  thought  Herrera, 
who  now  resolved  to  sound  the  depths  of  that  soul  and 
know  what  he  could  exact  of  it. 

There  came  a  day  at  last  when  the  poor  girl  was  sus- 
tained onty  by  her  moral  force  ;  the  body  was  about  to 
give  way.  The  priest  had  calculated  the  moment  with 
the  awful  practical  sagacity  shown  in  the  olden  time 
by  executioners  when  applying  the  "question."  He 
found  his  ward  in  the  garden,  sitting  on  a  bench  beside 
a  trellis  on  which  an  April  sun  was  flickering.  She 


Lucien  de  Rubempré. 


59 


seemed  cold,  and  to  be  trying  to  warm  herself  ;  her 
comrades  watched  with  pitying  interest  her  pallor 
like  that  of  withered  grass,  her  eyes  like  those  of 
a  dying  doe,  her  attitude  expressive  of  melancholy. 
Esther  rose  to  go  forward  and  meet  the  Spaniard,  with 
a  movement  which  showed  how  little  life  she  had,  and, 
let  us  say,  how  little  desire  she  had  to  live.  This  poor 
Bohemian,  this  bruised  wild  swallow,  excited,  for  the 
second  time,  the  pity  of  Carlos  Herrera.  That  gloomy 
minister,  whom  it  seemed  that  God  would  employ  only 
in  the  accomplishment  of  his  dire  punishments,  received 
the  feeble  creature  with  a  smile  that  expressed  as  much 
bitterness  as  gentleness,  as  much  revenge  as  charity. 
Trained  to  meditation  and  to  self-examination  during 
her  semi-monastic  life,  Esther  felt  for  the  second  time 
a  strong  distrust  of  her  protector  ;  but  she  was  reas- 
sured, as  on  the  first  occasion,  by  his  words. 

44  My  dear  child,"  he  said,  "  why  have  you  never 
spoken  to  me  of  Lucien  ?" 

"  I  had  promised  you,"  she  answered,  quivering  from 
head  to  foot  with  a  convulsive  motion,  "  I  had  sworn 
to  you  never  to  pronounce  his  name." 

"  But  you  have  not  ceased  to  think  of  him?  " 

"  That  is  my  only  blame.  I  think  of  him  at  all 
times,  and  when  you  appeared  I  was  saying  to  myself 
his  name." 

4  4  Absence  from  him  is  killing  you  ?  " 

For  all  answer  Esther  inclined  her  head  on  her  breast 
like  one  at  the  point  of  death. 

44  If  you  saw  him  again  —  " 

44 1  could  live,"  she  said. 

*'  Do  you  think  of  him  with  your  soul  only?" 


60 


Lucien  de  Rubempre. 


"  Oh,  father,"  she  said,  "love  cannot  be  divided 
into  parts  !  " 

"  Daughter  of  an  accursed  race  !  I  have  done  my 
best  to  save  you  ;  I  return  you  to  your  fate.  You  shall 
see  hirn  again." 

"  Why  curse  my  happiness?  Can  I  not  love  Lucien 
and  practise  virtue,  which  I  love  as  much  as  I  love 
him  ?  Am  I  not  ready  to  die  for  it,  as  I  am  to  die  for 
him?  Am  I  not  dying  for  those  two  fanaticisms,  for 
the  virtue  which  made  me  worthy  of  him,  and  for  him 
who  cast  me  into  the  arms  of  virtue  ?  Yes,  ready  to 
die  without  seeing  him,  —  ready  to  live  by  seeing  him. 
God  will  judge  me." 

Her  color  had  returned,  her  paleness  had  taken  a 
golden  hue.    Once  more  her  grace  came  back  to  her. 

"  The  day  after  that  on  which  you  are  cleansed  by 
the  waters  of  baptism  you  shall  see  Lucien  again  ;  if 
you  think  you  can  live  virtuously  in  living  for  him  you 
shall  not  again  be  separated  from  him." 

The  priest  was  forced  to  lift  her  up,  for  her  knees 
gave  way  beneath  her.  The  poor  girl  fell  as  if  the 
earth  had  given  way  at  her  feet.  The  abbé  placed  her 
on  the  bench,  and  when  her  voice  came  back  to  her  she 
said  :  — 

"Why  not  to-day?" 

"Would  you  rob  Monseigneur  of  the  triumph  of 
your  conversion  and  baptism?  You  are  too  near  to 
Lucien  ;  you  are  far  from  God." 

"  Yes  ;  I  thought  of  nothing  !  " 

"  You  will  never  be  of  any  religion,"  said  the  priest, 
with  a  motion  of  the  deepest  sarcasm. 

"  God  is  good  !  "  she  answered.  "  He  reads  my 
heart." 


Lucien  de  Ruhempré. 


61 


Vanquished  by  the  simplicity  of  soul  which  shone 
in  Esther's  voice,  look,  gestures,  and  attitude,  Herrera 
kissed  her  for  the  first  time  upon  her  forehead. 

"The  libertines  have  rightly  named  you,"  he  said; 
"  you  would  seduce  the  very  elect.  A  few  days  and 
you  shall  both  be  free." 

"  Both  !  "  she  repeated,  in  a  tone  of  ecstasy. 

This  scene,  viewed  from  a  distance  by  the  pupils 
and  the  superiors,  struck  them  with  a  sense  that  they 
had  looked  upon  some  magical  operation.  The  girl 
was  changed.  She  reappeared  in  her  true  nature  of 
love,  —  gentle,  winning,  affectionate,  and  gay  ;  in  short, 
she  was  resuscitated. 


62 


Lucien  de  Rubempré. 


IV. 

IN  WHICH  WE  LEARN    HOW    MUCH  OF  A  PRIEST  THERE 
WAS  IN  THE  ABBÉ   DON  CARLOS  HERRERA. 

Herrera  lived  in  the  rue  Cassette,  near  Saint- 
Sulpice,  the  church  he  had  selected  for  his  religious 
duties.  This  church,  cold  and  barren,  suited  a  Span- 
iard whose  religion  partook  of  that  of  the  Dominicans. 
A  true  son  of  the  crafty  policy  of  Ferdinand  VII.,  he 
was  sent  to  do  all  the  ill  he  could  to  the  constitutional 
cause,  aware  that  this  devotion  could  never  be  rewarded 
until  the  restoration  of  the  "  Rey  netto."  Carlos  Her- 
rera had  given  himself  body  and  soul  to  the  camarilla 
at  the  moment  when  the  Cortès  seemed  not  likely  to 
be  overthrown.  To  the  world  this  conduct  proclaimed 
him  a  superior  soul.  The  expedition  of  the  Due 
d'Angoulême  took  place,  King  Ferdinand  reigned,  but 
Don  Carlos  Herrera  did  not  return  to  Madrid  to  claim 
the  reward  of  his  services.  Protected  against  curiosity 
by  diplomatic  silence,  he  gave  as  the  reason  of  his 
continued  stay  in  Paris  his  strong  affection  for  Lucien 
de  Rubempré,  to  which  affection  on  the  part  of  the 
diplomatist  the  young  man  owed  the  ordinance  of 
the  king  permitting  him  to  take  the  name  and  arms 
of  his  mother's  family. 

Herrera  lived,  as  live  traditionally  all  priests  em- 
ployed on  secret  missions,  very  obscurely.   He  accom- 


Lucien  de  Euhempre. 


63 


plished  his  religious  duties  at  Saint-Sulpice,  never  went 
out  except  on  business,  and  then  at  night  and  in  a  car- 
riage. The  day  was  spent  by  him  in  the  Spanish 
siesta,  which  places  sleep  between  the  two  repasts,  and 
occupies  the  very  hours  when  Paris  is  most  tumultuous 
and  busy.  The  Spanish  cigar  also  played  its  part,  and 
consumed  as  much  time  as  it  did  tobacco.  Laziness 
is  a  mask  as  well  as  gravity,  which  is  also  laziness. 
Herrera  lived  in  one  wing  of  the  house,  on  the  second 
floor  ;  Lucien  occupied  the  other  wing.  The  two  suites 
were  separated,  and  also  united,  by  the  grand  reception- 
rooms,  the  ancient  magnificence  of  which  was  equally 
in  harmony  with  the  grave  ecclesiastic  and  the  youth- 
ful poet.  The  court-yard  of  this  mansion  was  gloomy. 
Large  trees  shaded  the  garden.  Silence  and  discreet 
seclusion  are  always  noticeable  in  the  dwellings  selected 
by  priests.  Herrera's  lodging  can  be  described  in  one 
word,  —  cells.  That  of  Lucien,  brilliant  with  luxury 
and  supplied  with  every  refinement  of  comfort,  com- 
bined all  requisites  for  the  life  of  the  dandy,  poet,  and 
writer,  ambitious,  worldly,  proud,  and  also  vain,  —  a 
careless  being,  yet  desirous  of  order  ;  one  of  those  in- 
complete geniuses  who  have  some  force  to  desire  and 
to  conceive  (which  are,  perhaps,  the  same  thing),  but 
are  powerless  to  execute. 

The  two,  Lucien  and  Herrera,  formed  a  policy  ; 
in  that,  no  doubt,  lay  the  secret  of  their  union. 
Elderly  men,  in  whom  the  action  of  life  is  displaced 
and  diverted  into  the  sphere  of  abstract  interests, 
often  feel  the  need  of  some  fresh  machine,  some 
young  and  ardent  actor  to  accomplish  their  projects. 
Richelieu  long  sought  for  a  handsome  moustached  face 


64 


Lucien  de  Rubempré. 


to  attract  and  divert  the  women  he  had  to  manage. 
Not  comprehended  by  giddy  youths,  he  was  forced 
to  banish  the  mother  of  his  master  and  frighten  the 
queen,  after  endeavoring  vainly  to  make  them  each 
in  love  with  himself,  —  he  being  not  of  a  style  to 
please  queens.  No  matter  what  men  may  do,  they 
must,  in  a  life  of  ambition,  bring  up  soouer  or  later 
against  a  woman,  and  at  the  moment  usually  when 
they  least  expect  it.  However  powerful  a  great  states- 
man may  be,  he  needs  a  woman  to  oppose  to  a  woman, 
as  the  Dutch  cut  diamonds  with  diamonds.  Rome,  at 
the  summit  of  her  power,  obeyed  this  necessity.  See 
how  the  life  of  Mazarin,  the  Italian  cardinal,  was 
dominant  in  another  way  than  that  of  Richelieu. 
Richelieu  was  opposed  by  the  great  lords,  and  laid 
the  axe  at  their  roots  ;  he  died  at  the  height  of  his 
power,  worn  out  with  the  duel,  in  which  he  had  had 
no  helper  but  a  Capuchin  monk.  Mazarin  was  re- 
pulsed by  Noblesse  and  Bourgeoisie  united,  both  armed 
and  sometimes  victoriously  able  to  put  Royalty  to 
flight  ;  but  the  servitor  of  Anne  of  Austria,  though 
he  cut  off  no  head,  vanquished  all  France,  and  formed 
Louis  XIV.,  who  accomplished  Richelieu's  work  by 
strangling  the  Noblesse  with  the  golden  bow-strings 
of  the  harem  of  Versailles.  Madame  de  Pompadour 
dead,  Choiseul  was  powerless. 

Was  Carlos  Herrera  imbued  with  such  doctrines? 
Did  he  do  wisely  for  himself  sooner  than  Richelieu 
did?  Had  he  chosen  a  Cinq-Mars  in  Lucien,  —  a 
faithful  Cinq-Mars  ?  No  one  could  answer  these  ques- 
tions or  measure  the  ambition  of  that  Spaniard,  nor 
could  any  foresee  what  his  end  would  be.  These 


Lucien  de  Ruhempre. 


65 


inquiries  put  by  those  who  were  able  to  cast  an  eye 
on  this  union,  which  was  kept  secret  for  some  time, 
tend  towards  the  disclosure  of  a  dreadful  mystery, 
the  truth  of  which  Lucien  had  only  known  within  a 
few  days.  Don  Carlos  was  ambitious  for  both  ;  that 
fact  was  plainly  demonstrated  to  every  one  who  knew 
them,  and  all  believed  that  Lucien  was  the  natural  son 
of  the  priest. 

Fifteen  days  after  Lucien's  reappearance  at  the 
Opera,  which  cast  him  into  the  Parisian  world  sooner 
than  the  abbe  wished  (for  he  wanted  more  time  to  arm 
him  against  society),  Lucien  had  three  fine  horses  in 
his  stable  ;  a  coupé  for  use  at  night,  a  cabriolet  and 
tilbury  for  the  morning.  He  dined  out  daily.  Her- 
rera's  expectations  were  realized  ;  dissipation  laid  hold 
of  his  pupil,  but  he  thought  this  needful  to  create  a 
diversion  to  the  young  man's  desperate  love  for  Esther. 
But,  after  squandering  some  forty  thousand  francs  in 
folly,  Lucien  was  only  the  more  bent  on  recovering 
Esther,  for  whom  he  searched  pertinaciously  ;  not  find- 
ing her,  she  became  to  him  what  the  game  is  to  the  hunter. 
Could  Herrera  comprehend  the  nature  of  a  poet's  love? 
When  once  that  sentiment  has  entered  the  head  of  those 
great  little  men  as  it  has  their  heart  and  their  senses, 
the  poet  becomes  as  superior  to  humanity  through  love 
as  he  is  through  the  power  of  his  fancy.  Owing  to  a 
caprice  of  the  present  generation  the  rare  faculty  of 
expressing  nature  by  images  on  which  he  imprints 
both  sentiment  and  ideas,  the  poet  gives  to  his  love 
the  wings  of  his  mind  ;  he  feels  and  he  paints,  he 
acts  and  he  meditates,  he  multiplies  his  sensations  by 
thought,  he  triples  present  felicity  by  aspiration  of  the 

5 


66 


Lucien  de  Bubempré. 


future  and  memory  of  the  past  ;  he  mingles  with  his 
love  all  the  exquisite  enjoyments  of  the  soul  which 
make  him  the  prince  of  artists.  The  passion  of  a 
poet  then  becomes  a  great  poem  in  which  it  often 
happens  that  human  proportions  are  surpassed.  The 
poet  places  his  mistress  higher  than  women  desire  to 
be  held.  He  changes,  like  the  noble  knight  of  La 
Mancha,  a  girl  of  the  fields  to  a  princess.  He  puts 
to  his  own  use  the  wand  with  which  he  touches  all 
things  and  makes  them  marvellous  ;  he  magnifies  his 
sensuous  pleasures  by  his  adorable  instinct  of  the 
ideal.  Therefore  this  love  is  a  model  of  passion;  it 
is  excessive  in  everything,  —  in  its  hopes,  in  its  despair, 
in  its  anger,  its  sadness,  its  joy  ;  it  flies,  it  bounds,  it 
creeps  ;  it  resembles  none  of  the  agitations  which  lay 
hold  of  common  men  ;  it  is  to  the  bourgeois  love  what 
the  eternal  torrent  of  the  Alps  is  to  the  rivulet  of  the 
plain.  These  rare  geniuses  are  so  seldom  understood 
that  they  waste  their  being  on  false  hopes  ;  they  con- 
sume their  vitality  in  the  search  for  their  ideal  mis- 
tresses ;  they  die  like  the  beautiful  insects  adorned  for 
fêtes  of  love  by  Nature,  the  great  poet,  and  crushed 
while  yet  virgin  beneath  the  foot  of  some  unconscious 
passer.  But,  lo  !  another  danger  !  When  they  meet 
the  form  which  responds  to  their  spirit,  —  sometimes  a 
baker's  girl,  —  they  do  as  Raffaelle  did,  as  the  beauti- 
ful insect  does,  they  die  for  the  Fornarina.  Lucien  had 
reached  this  point.  His  poetic  nature,  necessarily  ex- 
treme in  everything,  in  good  as  in  evil,  had  divined 
the  angel  in  the  prostitute,  more  smeared  by  corrup- 
tion than  corrupted  ;  he  saw  her  white-winged,  pure, 
mysterious,  as  if  she  had  made  herself  for  him,  divining 
that  he  needed  her  thus. 


Lucien  de  Eubempré. 


67 


Towards  the  end  of  the  month  of  May,  1825,  Lucien 
had  lost  all  his  vivacity  ;  he  no  longer  went  out  ;  dined 
daily  with  H  errera,  was  pensive,  did  some  work,  read 
collections  of  diplomatic  treaties,  and  sat  like  a  Turk 
on  his  divan  smoking  three  or  four  hookas  a  day.  His 
groom  employed  more  time  in  cleaning  the  tubes  of  the 
pretty  instrument  than  in  currying  the  horses  or  deck- 
ing them  with  roses  for  the  Bois.  The  day  on  which 
the  Spaniard  saw  Lucien's  forehead  pallid,  and  recog- 
nized the  signs  of  illness  from  the  madness  of  thwarted 
love,  he  resolved  to  go  to  the  bottom  of  this  heart  of 
man  upon  which  he  had  now  built  his  own  life. 

On  a  fine  evening,  when  Lucien,  sitting  in  an  arm- 
chair, was  idly  gazing  through  the  trees  in  the  garden 
at  the  setting  sun,  casting  the  mist  of  his  perfumed 
smoke  in  prolonged  and  regular  exhalations,  as  pre- 
occupied smokers  do,  he  was  suddenly  drawn  from  his 
revery  by  a  heavy  sigh.  Looking  up,  he  saw  the  abbé 
standing  before  him  with  his  arms  crossed. 

"  So  you  are  there,"  he  said. 

"And  have  been  for  some  time,"  replied  the  priest. 
44  My  thoughts  have  been  following  yours." 

Lucien  understood  the  meaning  of  the  words. 

"  I  never  claimed  to  have  an  iron  nature  like  yours," 
he  said.  14  Life  is  to  me,  by  turns,  first  heaven  and 
then  hell  ;  but  when,  by  chance,  it  is  neither  the  one 
nor  the  other,  then  it  bores  me  ;  I  am  bored." 

44  Why?  —  when  you  have  so  many  magnificent  pros- 
pects before  you?" 

44  When  one  does  not  believe  in  such  prospects,  or 
when  they  are  too  mysteriously  veiled  —  " 

44  No  nonsense!"  said  the  priest.    4 4  It  would  be 


68 


Lucien  de  Hubempré. 


far  more  worthy  of  you  and  of  me  if  you  opened  youv 
heart  to  me.    There  is  between  us  what  ought  nevei 
to  have  been,  a  secret.    This  secret  has  lasted  sixteen 
months.    You  love  —  " 
"Go  on." 

"  —  a  depraved  girl,  whom  they  call  La  Torpille." 
"Well?" 

"  My  son,  I  permitted  you  to  take  a  mistress  ;  but  a 
woman  in  society,  young,  handsome,  influential,  and  of 
rank.  I  chose  for  you  Madame  d'Espard,  so  that  you 
might  have  no  scruple  in  making  her  a  stepping-stone 
of  fortune  ;  she  would  never  have  perverted  your  heart, 
she  would  have  left  you  free.  But  to  love  a  prostitute 
of  the  lowest  kind  when  you  have  not,  like  kiDgs,  the 
power  of  ennobling  her,  is  a  monstrous  fault." 

"  Am  I  the  first  who  has  renounced  ambition  to 
follow  the  bent  of  an  ungovernable  love?" 

"  Ah  !  "  said  the  priest,  picking  up  the  mouth-piece 
of  the  hookah  which  Lucien  had  let  drop,  and  handing 
it  to  him.  "I  note  the  sarcasm.  But  why  not  com- 
bine both  ambition  and  love?  Child,  you  have  in  your 
old  Herrera  a  mother  whose  devotion  is  boundless." 

"  I  know  it,  old  friend,"  said  Lucien,  pressing  the 
priest's  hand  and  shaking  it. 

"  You  wanted  the  gewgaws  of  wealth,  and  you  have 
them.  You  wanted  to  shine,  and  I  have  guided  you 
into  a  path  of  power.  I  have  kissed  many  dirty  hands 
for  your  advancement,  and  you  can  advance.  A  little 
more  time,  and  you  will  lack  nothing  that  can  please 
and  delight  either  man  or  woman.  Effeminate  through 
3Tour  caprices,  3^011  are  virile  in  mind;  I  know  you 
wholly,  and  I  pardon  all.    You  have  only  to  say  the 


Lucien  de  Eubempré. 


69 


word  and  all  your  passions  of  the  hour  shall  be  satisfied. 
I  have  enlarged  your  life  by  putting  upon  it  that  which 
will  make  it  admired  by  the  greater  number,  the  seal 
of  statecraft  and  dominion.  You  shall  be  as  great  as 
you  once  were  small.  But  we  must  not  break  the  ma- 
chine with  which  we  coin  the  money.  I  allow  all,  except 
the  faults  which  compromise  your  future.  When  I 
open  to  you  the  salons  of  the  faubourg  Saint- Germain, 
I  forbid  you  to  rake  in  the  gutters.  Lucien  !  I  stand 
like  a  bar  of  iron  in  defence  of  your  interests  ;  I  will 
endure  all  from  you,  for  you.  I  have  converted  your 
weak  throw  in  the  game  of  life  into  the  successful  play 
of  a  practised  gambler." 

Lucien  raised  his  head  with  an  abrupt  and  furious 
motion. 

"  I  carried  off  La  Torpille." 

44  You  !  "  cried  Lucien. 

In  a  passion  of  animal  rage  Lucien  bounded  up, 
threw  the  jewelled  mouth-piece  in  the  face  of  the  priest, 
and  pushed  him  so  violently  as  to  throw  over  that 
athletic  form. 

"I,"  said  the  Spaniard,  rising  and  still  preserving 
his  terrible  gravity. 

The  black  wig  had  fallen  off.  A  skull,  polished  like 
that  of  a  death's  head,  restored  to  the  man  his  true 
physiognomy  :  it  was  terrifying.  Lucien  remained  on 
his  divan,  with  hanging  arms,  overwhelmed,  gazing  at 
the  abbé  with  stupid  eyes. 

"  I  carried  her  off,"  repeated  the  priest. 

"  "What  have  you  done  with  her?  Did  you  carry  her 
away  the  day  after  the  masked  ball  ?  " 

44  Yes,  the  day  after  I  saw  a  being  who  belonged  to 


70 


Lucien  de  Hubempre. 


you  insulted  by  rascals  whom  I  would  not  stoop  to 
even  kick  —  " 

"Rascals!"  said  Lucien,  interrupting  him;  "say 
rather  monsters,  beside  whom  criminals  who  are  guil- 
lotined are  angels.  Do  you  know  what  that  poor  girl 
had  done  for  three  of  them  ?  One  was  for  two  months 
her  lover  ;  she  was  poor  and  earned  her  bread  in  the 
gutter  ;  he  himself  had  not  a  penny,  —  like  me  when 
you  met  me  near  the  river.  The  fellow  got  up  in  the 
night  and  went  to  the  closet  where  she  kept  the 
remains  of  her  scanty  dinner  and  ate  them.  She  ended 
by  discovering  this  act  ;  she  felt  the  shame  of  it  ;  after 
that  she  left  much  more  of  her  food  for  him  ;  it  made 
her  happy.  She  told  this  to  me,  to  me  only,  as  we 
drove  back  that  night  from  the  Opera.  The  second 
had  robbed  a  friend,  but  before  the  theft  could  be 
discovered  she  lent  him  the  money  to  replace  it,  which 
he  has  never  returned  to  her.  As  for  the  third,  she 
made  his  fortune  by  playing  a  comedy  worthy  of  the 
genius  of  Figaro  ;  she  passed  for  his  wife  and  made 
herself  the  mistress  of  a  man  in  power,  who  thought 
her  the  most  honest  of  bourgeoises.  To  one  she  gave 
life,  to  another  honor,  to  the  third  fortune  ;  and  see 
how  they  rewarded  her." 

"  Shall  they  die?  "  said  Herrera  in  a  muffled  voice. 

"  Ah,  there  you  are  !  I  know  you  now —  " 

"  No,  not  yet  ;  hear  all,  peevish  poet!  La  Torpille 
no  longer  exists." 

Lucien  sprang  upon  Herrera  so  vigorously  to  catch 
him  b}^  the  throat  that  any  other  man  would  have 
been  knocked  down,  but  the  Spaniard  wa6  on  his 
guard,  and  his  arm  held  Lucien  back. 


Lucien  de  Ruhempré. 


71 


"  Listen,"  he  said  coldly.  "I  have  made  a  chaste, 
religious,  well-trained  woman  of  her  ;  a  well-bred 
woman  ;  she  is  in  the  road  to  farther  improvement. 
She  may,  she  should,  become  under  the  empire  of  your 
love,  a  Ninon,  a  Marion  Delorme,  a  Dubarry,  as  that 
journalist  said  at  the  Opera.  You  can  admit  that  she 
is  your  mistress,  or  you  can  stay  behind  the  curtain, 
which  would  be  the  wiser  way  ;  either  way  will  bring 
you  profit,  pleasure,  and  progress.  But  if  you  are  as 
worldly-wise  a  man  as  you  are  a  great  poet,  Esther 
will  be  no  more  to  you  than  a  sister,  for  later,  mark 
my  words,  she  will  extricate  us  from  some  difficulty, 
or  play  some  great  card  for  us  ;  she  is  worth  her  weight 
in  gold.  Drink,  if  you  will,  but  do  not  get  drunk. 
If  I  had  not  taken  the  reins  of  your  passion  into  my 
own  hands,  where  would  you  be  now?  Here,  read," 
said  Herrera,  as  simply  as  Talma  in  "  Manlius,"  which 
he  had  never  seen. 

A  paper  fell  upon  the  poet's  knees,  and  drew  him 
from  the  stupefied  surprise  into  which  this  speech  had 
thrown  him.  He  took  and  read  the  first  letter  ever 
written  by  Esther  :  — 

To  Monsieur  l'Abbé  Carlos  Serrera  : 

My  dear  Protector,  —  "Will  you  not  believe  that  grati- 
tude goes  before  love  in  my  heart  when  you  see  that  it  is  to 
thank  you  that  I  employ,  for  the  first  time,  the  faculty  of 
expressing  my  thoughts  in  writing,  instead  of  spending  it  in 
trying  to  describe  a  love  which  Lucien  has,  perhaps,  for- 
gotten. But  I  will  tell  to  you,  a  man  of  God,  what  I  dare 
not  tell  to  him,  —  to  him  who,  for  my  happiness,  is  here  on 
earth.  The  ceremony  of  yesterday  has  poured  treasures  of 
grace  and  mercy  into  my  soul,  and  again  I  place  my  destiny 


72 


Lucien  de  Bubempre. 


in  your  hands.  If  I  am  to  die  parted  from  my  beloved,  I 
shall  die  purified,  like  the  Magdalen,  and  my  soul  will  be- 
come to  him  the  rival  of  his  guardian  angel.  Can  I  ever 
forget  the  festival  of  yesterday  ?  How  could  I  ever  abdicate 
the  glorious  throne  to  which  I  rose  ?  Yesterday  I  cleansed 
my  sins,  visibly,  in  the  waters  of  baptism  ;  I  received  the 
sacred  body  of  our  Saviour  ;  I  became  one  of  his  tabernacles. 
At  that  moment  I  heard  the  songs  of  angels;  I  was  more 
than  a  woman  ;  I  was  borne  to  a  life  of  light  on  a  cloud 
of  incense  and  prayers,  decked  like  a  virgin  for  a  celestial 
spouse.  Feeling  myself  —  what  I  never  hoped  to  be  —  wor- 
thy, of  Lucien,  I  abjured  unworthy  love  ;  I  will  walk  in  no 
other  paths  than  those  of  virtue.  If  my  body  is  more  feeble 
than  my  soul,  let  it  perish.  Be  the  arbiter  of  my  fate; 
guide  me.  And  if  I  die,  tell  Lucien  that  I  died  for  him  in 
being  born  to  God. 
Sunday  evening. 

Lucien  raised  his  tearful  eyes  to  the  abbé. 

"  You  know  the  apartment  of  little  Caroline  Belle- 
feuille  in  the  rue  Taitbout,"  said  the  Spaniard.  "  That 
poor  girl,  abandoned  by  her  magistrate,  was  in  great 
distress  ;  they  were  about  to  put  an  execution  in  the 
house.  I  have  bought  it,  furniture  and  all.  Esther, 
that  angel  who  talked  of  rising  to  the  skies,  is  there, 
and  you  can  find  her." 

Lucien  had  no  strength  to  express  his  gratitude  ;  he 
flung  himself  into  the  arms  of  the  man  he  had  lately 
attacked,  repaired  the  insult  with  a  look  and  the  mute 
effusion  of  his  feelings.  Then  he  rushed  down  the  stairs, 
threw  Esther's  address  to  his  groom,  and  the  horses 
started  as  if  their  master's  passion  inspired  their  legs. 

The  next  day  a  man,  whom  the  passers  might  have 
judged  from  his  dress  to  be  a  disguised  gendarme,  was 


Lucien  de  JRubempré. 


73 


walking  up  and  down  the  rue  Taitbout,  looking  at  a 
house  from  which  he  seemed  to  expect  some  one  to 
issue  ;  his  step  was  that  of  a  man  under  excitement. 
You  will  often  meet  such  preoccupied  pedestrians  in 
Paris  :  either  real  gendarmes,  watching  some  national 
guard,  who  is  avoiding  arrest  for  misdemeanor  ;  or 
creditors,  waiting  to  affront  a  debtor,  who  keeps  him- 
self carefully  immured  at  home  ;  or  lovers  and  hus- 
bands, jealous  and  suspicious  ;  or  friends,  standing 
sentinel  in  behalf  of  friends.  But  you  will  seldom 
meet  a  face  gleaming  with  the  savage  wickedness  that 
lighted  that  of  the  sombre  athlete  who  paced  the  street 
beneath  Esther's  windows  like  a  bear  in  a  cage. 

About  mid-day  a  window  was  opened  and  the  blinds 
thrown  back  by  a  woman's  hand,  and  Esther  looked 
out  to  breathe  the  air.  Lucien  was  beside  her.  Any 
one  who  had  seen  them  would  have  been  reminded  of 
an  English  vignette.  Esther  instantly  caught  the  basi- 
lisk eyes  of  the  Spanish  priest,  and  the  poor  creature, 
struck  by  their  expression  as  by  a  curse,  gave  a  cry 
of  fear. 

"  The  priest  is  there,"  she  said  to  Lucien. 

"  He,"  he  said,  smiling,  —  "he  is  no  more  a  priest 
than  you  are  !  " 

"  What  is  he,  then?  "  she  asked,  terrified. 

"  Ha  !  an  old  heathen,  who  believes  neither  in  God 
nor  in  the  devil,"  replied  Lucien,  letting  a  gleam  of 
light  escape  him  on  the  secrets  of  the  priest,  which 
might  have  ruined  them  both  with  any  other  listener 
than  Esther. 

As  they  entered  the  dining-room,  where  their  break- 
fast was  served,  the  lovers  met  Herrera. 


74 


Lucien  de  Bubempré. 


"  Why  are  you  here?  "  asked  Lucien. 

"  To  bless  you  !  "  replied  that  powerful  individual, 
stopping  the  couple  and  obliging  them  to  go  back  into 
the  salon.  "  Listen,  my  young  lovers  !  Amuse  your- 
selves, be  happy,  —  that 's  all  very  well.  Happiness 
at  any  price,  —  that 's  my  doctrine.  But  you,"  he  said, 
addressing  Esther,  —  "  you  whom  I  dragged  from  the 
mud  and  washed,  body  and  soul,  — you  must  not  ven- 
ture to  put  yourself  across  the  path  of  Lucien' s  ad- 
vancement. As  for  you,"  he  added,  after  a  pause, 
looking  at  Lucien,  "  you  are  no  longer  a  mere  poet,  to 
let  yourself  be  sunk  in  a  new  Coralie.  We  are  making 
prose,  now.  What  can  the  lover  of  Esther  become? 
Nothing.  Can  Esther  be  Madame  de  Rubempré  ?  No. 
Well,  then,  the  world,  my  dear,"  —  he  placed  his  hand 
on  that  of  Esther,  who  shuddered  and  shrank  from 
him  as  if  touched  by  a  snake,  —  "  if  you  love  Lucien, 
the  world  must  be  ignorant  of  your  existence  ;  above 
all,  it  must  never  know  that  Esther  loves  Lucien  and 
Lucien  loves  her.  This  house  will  be  your  prison,  my 
little  girl.  If  you  wish  to  go  out,  and  your  health 
requires  it,  it  must  be  at  night,  and  in  a  way  that  you 
cannot  be  seen  ;  for  your  beauty,  your  youth,  and  the 
distinction  you  have  acquired  in  the  convent  would  be 
instantly  remarked  upon.  The  day  when  any  one,  no 
matter  who,"  he  said,  in  a  terrible  tone,  accompanied 
by  a  still  more  terrible  glance,  "  discovers  that  Lucien 
is  your  lover,  that  day  will  be  your  last  on  earth.  An 
ordinance  has  been  procured  for  that  young  man  which 
permits  him  to  bear  the  name  and  arms  of  his  maternal 
ancestors.  That  is  not  all  ;  the  title  of  marquis  has 
not  yet  been  granted  to  him.    To  recover  it,  he  must 


Lucien  de  Rubempré. 


75 


marry  the  daughter  of  a  noble  house,  to  whom  the 
king  will  grant  that  favor.  This  alliance  will  put 
Lucien  into  the  society  of  the  court.  This  youth,  of 
whom  I  have  made  a  man,  will  become,  first,  the  secre- 
tary of  an  embassy,  and  later,  an  ambassador  to  one 
of  the  German  courts  ;  and  God  —  or  I,  which  is  more 
to  the  purpose  —  aiding  him,  he  will  sit  some  day  on 
the  bench  of  peers  —  " 

"  Or  the  bench  of  —  "  said  Lucien,  interrupting  the 
so-called  priest. 

"  Silance  !  "  said  Carlos,  standing  in  front  of  Lucien. 
44  Such  secrets  before  a  woman  !  "  he  whispered. 

"  Esther,  a  woman  of  that  kind!  "  cried  the  author 
of  the  "  Daisies." 

"  Sonnets!"  sneered  the  priest.  "All  such  angels 
come  down  to  being  women,  sooner  or  later.  All 
women  have  times  when  they  are  monkeys  and  chil- 
dren in  one  ;  two  beings  who  can  kill  us  while  they 
amuse  us.  Esther,  my  jewel,"  he  said,  to  the  horror- 
stricken  girl,  "I  have  engaged  a  maid  for  you,  —  a 
creature  who  belongs  to  me  as  if  she  were  my  own 
daughter.  You  will  also  have  as  cook  a  mulatto 
woman  ;  she  will  give  a  certain  air  to  your  establish- 
ment. With  Europe  and  Asia  (those  are  the  names  by 
which  I  call  them)  you  can  live  here  for- two  thousand 
francs  a  month,  all  told,  like  a  queen,  —  a  theatre  queen. 
Europe  has  been  a  dress-maker,  milliner,  and  super- 
numerary ;  Asia  was  a  cook  to  a  gormandizing  milord. 
These  two  women  will  be  your  household  fairies." 

Seeing  Lucien  a  mere  babe  before  this  strange  being, 
who  was  guilty  at  any  rate  of  sacrilege  and  forgery, 
the  poor  woman  felt  an  awful  terror  and  despair  to  the 


76 


Lucien  de  Eubemjpré. 


very  depths  of  her  heart.  She  could  not  speak,  but 
dragged  Lucien  away  to  the  inner  room,  and  whis- 
pered, fc'Is  he  the  devil?" 

"  Far  worse  —  for  me,"  he  said,  passionately.  44  But 
if  you  love  me,  obey  him  under  pain  of  death." 

44  Death?"  she  echoed,  still  more  terrified. 

"Death,"  repeated  Lucien.  "Alas,  my  sweetest,  no 
death  could  be  compared  to  that  which  would  befall 
me  if  —  " 

Esther  turned  deathly  pale  as  she  heard  these  words 
and  felt  herself  faltering. 

"  Well  !  "  cried  the  false  abbé,  44  have  n't  you  pulled 
all  the  leaves  from  your  daisies  yet?" 

Lucien  and  Esther  returned  to  the  salon,  and  the 
poor  girl  said,  without  daring  to  look  at  the  mysterious 
man:  "  You  will  be  obeyed,  monsieur,  as  we  obey 
God." 

44  Right,"  he  replied,  44  now  you  may  be  happy  for  a 
certain  time  at  any  rate.  You  will  want  but  few 
clothes,"  he  added,  44  as  you  never  go  out  except  at 
night  ;  that  will  be  economical."  The  lovers  again 
turned  toward  the  dining-room  ;  but  Lucien's  master 
made  a  gesture  which  arrested  them.  44  I  spoke  of 
your  servants,  my  dear,"  he  said  to  Esther;  44 1  will 
now  present  them  to  you." 

The  Spaniard  rang  twice.  The  two  women  whom  he 
had  named  Europe  and  Asia  appeared,  and  the  reason 
of  their  nicknames  was  at  once  apparent. 


Lucien  de  Bubemprê. 


11 


V. 

TWO  WATCH-DOGS. 

Asia,  who  appeared  to  have  been  born  on  the  Hand 
of  Java,  presented  to  the  eye,  as  if  to  alarm  it  instantly, 
the  copper  visage  peculiar  to  the  Malays,  flat  as  a  board, 
the  nose  seeming  to  have  been  pushed  in  by  some  power- 
ful compression.  The  singular  position  of  the  maxillary 
bones  gave  to  the  lower  part  of  the  face  a  strong  re- 
semblance to  that  of  the  larger  species  of  ape.  The 
forehead,  though  retreating,  was  not  without  a  certain 
intelligence  produced  by  cunning.  Two  flaming  little 
eyes  had  the  calmness  of  those  of  tigers  ;  but  they 
never  looked  you  in  the  face.  Asia  seemed  to  be 
afraid  of  terrifying  her  companions.  The  lips,  of  a 
pale  blue,  disclosed  teeth  of  dazzling  whiteness,  but 
overlapping.  The  general  expression  of  this  animal 
countenance  was  villanous.  Her  hair,  shining  and  oily 
like  the  skin  of  the  face,  lay  in  two  black  bands  on 
either  side  of  a  rich  silken  turban.  Her  ears,  extremely 
pretty,  had  in  them  two  large  brown  pearls  for  orna- 
ment. Short  and  thick-set,  Asia  resembled  certain 
comical  figures  which  the  Chinese  permit  themselves 
to  paint  on  their  boxes  ;  or  rather,  to  speak  more  pre- 
cisely, to  those  Hindu  idols,  the  t}~pe  of  which  we 
think  could  never  exist  until  some  traveller  meets  with 
it.  Seeing  this  monster,  dressed  in  a  stuff  gown  and 
a  white  apron,  Esther  shuddered. 


78 


Lucien  de  Ruhempré. 


"  Asia,"  said  the  Spaniard,  to  whom  the  woman 
raised  her  head  with  a  movement  that  was  comparable 
to  that  of  a  dog  looking  at  his  master  ;  "  this  is  your 
mistress." 

He  pointed  to  Esther  in  her  morning-gown.  Asia 
looked  at  the  young  sylph  with  an  expression  that  was 
somewhat  sorrowful  ;  though  at  the  same  time  a  stifled 
gleam  shot  from  her  half -closed  eyelids  at  Lucien,  who 
looked  diviuely  handsome  at  that  moment.  Italian 
genius  may  invent  the  tale  of  Othello,  and  English 
genius  may  show  it  on  the  stage,  but  nature  alone  is 
able  to  put  into  the  human  glance  the  complete  and 
magnificent  expression  of  jealousy.  Esther  saw  it, 
and  she  gripped  the  Spaniard  by  the  arm,  setting  in 
her  nails  as  a  cat  would  have  clung  to  save  itself  from 
falling  down  a  precipice.  The  Spaniard  said  three  or 
four  words  in  an  unknown  language  to  the  Asiatic 
monster,  who  at  once  knelt  down  at  Esther's  feet 
and  kissed  them. 

"  She  can  cook  in  a  wray  to  put  Carême  beside  him- 
self," said  the  Spaniard  to  Esther.  "  Asia  knows  how 
to  do  everything.  She  will  send  up  a  simple  dish  of 
vegetables  which  will  make  you  wonder  if  the  angels 
have  not  been  down  from  heaven  to  add  some  celestial 
herb  to  it.  She  goes  to  market  every  morning  herself, 
and  fights  like  the  devil  that  she  is,  to  get  things 
at  the  lowest  price.  Moreover,  she  will  tire  out  all 
inquisitive  people  with  her  discretion.  As  you  are  to 
be  thought  to  have  come  from  India,  Asia's  presence 
will  assist  the  fable  ;  she  's  a  Parisian  born  to  be  of 
any  country  she  chooses  —  though  my  advice  to  you  is 
not  to  be  a  foreigner.    Europe,  what  say  you?  " 


Lucien  de  Bubempré. 


79 


Europe  was  a  perfect  contrast  to  Asia,  being  as 
trig  a  little  soubrette  as  Monrose  ever  desired  for  an 
opponent  on  the  stage.  Slim,  and  apparently  giddy, 
with  a  sharp  little  nose  and  the  face  of  a  weasel, 
Europe  presented  to  all  observers  a  face  worn  out  by 
Parisian  corruptions  ;  the  wan,  tired  face  of  a  girl  fed 
on  raw  apples,  lymphatic  yet  wiry,  slack  but  tenacious. 
With  her  little  foot  advanced,  her  hands  in  the  pockets 
of  her  apron,  she  wriggled  while  standing  still,  out  of 
mere  excitability.  A  grisette  and  a  figurante,  she  must, 
in  spite  of  her  youth,  have  played  various  rôles  in  life. 
Naturally  depraved,  like  so  many  of  her  kind,  she  may 
have  robbed  her  parents  or  sat  on  the  benches  of  the 
correctional  police.  Asia  inspired  fear,  but  she  was 
known  for  what  she  was  in  a  moment  ;  she  descended 
in  a  direct  line  from  Locusta  ;  whereas  Europe  inspired 
a  perpetual  anxiety,  which  could  only  deepen  as  her 
service  continued  ;  her  corruption  seemed  to  have  no 
limit;  she  would,  as  the  saying  is,  have  balked  at 
nothing. 

"Perhaps  madame  comes  from  Valenciennes,"  said 
Europe,  in  a  hard,  thin  voice.  "  I  do.  Will  monsieur 
please  to  tell  us,"  she  added,  addressing  Lucien,  "  what 
name  he  gives  to  madame?  " 

"Madame  van  Bogseck,"  said  the  Spaniard,  revers- 
ing two  letters  in  Esther's  name.  "  Madame  is  a 
Jewess,  originally  from  Holland,  the  widow  of  a  mer- 
chant, and  ill  of  a  liver  complaint  brought  back  from 
Java.    Of  no  great  fortune  to  excite  curiosity  — 99 

"  Only  enough  to  live  on,  and  we  are  to  complain  of 
her  economies,"  suggested  Europe. 

"  Precisely,"  said  the  Spaniard,  nodding  his  head 


80 


Lucien  de  Rubcmpré. 


"  Imps  of  Satan  !  "  be  cried  in  his  terrible  voice,  de- 
tecting looks  between  Europe  and  Asia  which  displeased 
him  ;  "  remember  what  I  have  told  you  ;  you  serve  a 
queen  ;  and  you  are  to  serve  her  with  devotion,  as  you 
would  me.  Neither  the  porter,  nor  the  neighbors,  nor 
any  one  else  is  to  know  what  passes  here.  It  is  your 
business  to  mislead  curiosity,  should  any  be  shown. 
And  madame,"  he  continued,  putting  his  large  hairy 
hand  on  Esther's  arm,  "  madame  must  not  commit  the 
smallest  imprudence  ;  you  will  prevent  it  if  need  be, 
but  —  always  respectfully.  Europe,  I  place  you  in 
relation  with  the  outside  world  ;  you  will  attend  to 
madame's  dress  and  purchases;  be  careful  to  practise 
economy.  Lastly,  let  no  one,  not  the  most  insignificant 
persons,  set  foot  in  this  apartment.  Between  you  two 
the  work  of  taking  care  of  it  must  be  done.  My  little 
beauty,"  he  said  to  Esther,  "  when  you  want  to  go  out 
in  the  evening  tell  Europe  ;  she  knows  where  to  get 
you  a  carriage,  and  you  will  have  a  chasseur  at  your 
orders,  —  one  of  my  choosing,"  he  added,  "  like  the 
other  two." 

Esther  and  Lucien  were  unable  to  say  a  word.  They 
listened  to  the  Spaniard  and  gazed  at  the  two  strange 
characters  to  whom  he  gave  his  orders.  To  what  secret 
power  did  he  owe  the  submission,  the  devotion  written 
upon  their  faces,  one  so  wickedly  rebellious,  the  other 
so  profoundly  cruel?  He  guessed  the  thoughts  of 
Esther  and  of  Lucien,  who  seemed  paralyzed,  as  Paul 
and  Virginia  might  have  been  at  the  sight  of  two 
horrible  serpents  ;  and  he  whispered  in  their  ears  in 
a  kinder  voice  :  — 

"  You  can  trust  them  as  you  can  me  ;  keep  no 


Lucien  de  Rubemprê. 


81 


secrets  from  them  ;  that  will  flatter  them.  Come, 
Asia,"  he  said,  smiling,  "serve  the  breakfast;  and 
you,  my  little  Europe,  put  me  a  knife  and  fork  ;  the 
least  these  children  can  do  is  to  invite  papa  to  a 
meal." 

When  the  two  women  had  closed  the  door  and  the 
Spaniard  heard  Europe  going  and  coming  in  the  ad- 
joining room,  he  said  to  Lucien  and  the  young  girl, 
opening  and  shutting  his  large  hand,  "  I  hold  them  !  " 
a  saying  and  gesture  which  made  them  tremble. 

"  Where  did  you  find  them?  "  cried  Lucien. 

"Eh!  parbleu!"  replied  the  man,  "  I  did  not  look 
for  them  on  the  steps  of  the  throne.  Such  as  they 
come  from  the  mud,  and  they  fear  to  go  back  into  it. 
Threaten  them  with  monsieur  Vahhé  if  they  don't  do 
as  you  wish  ;  you  '11  see  them  tremble  like  mice  that 
hear  the  cat.  l 'm  a  tamer  of  wild  beasts,"  he  said, 
laughing. 

"  You  seem  to  me  a  demon,"  cried  Esther,  shrinking 
to  Lucien' s  side. 

"  My  child,  I  attempted  to  give  you  to  heaven  ;  but 
the  repentant  Magdalen  will  always  baffle  the  Church. 
If  there  is  such  a  being  she  '11  return  to  her  ways  in 
paradise.  You  have  gained  something,  however.  You 
learned,  over  there,  things  that  you  never  could  have 
known  in  the  infamous  sphere  in  which  you  lived,  — 
how  to  behave  like  a  well-bred  woman,  how  to  conduct 
yourself.  You  owe  me  nothing,"  he  exclaimed,  seeing 
the  expression  of  gratitude  that  overspread  Esther's 
face.  "I  did  it  all  for  him,"  pointing  to  Lucien. 
"You  are  a  courtesan,  and  a  courtesan  you  will  con- 
tinue to  be,  for,  in  spite  of  the  theories  of  those  who 

6 


82 


Lucien  de  Bubemprê. 


raise  cattle,  no  living  being  can  become  in  this  world 
anything  but  what  he  is.  The  man  of  the  bumps  is 
right;  you  have  the  bump  of  love." 

The  Spaniard  was,  as  we  see,  a  fatalist,  like  Napo- 
leon, like  Mohammed,  and  many  other  great  states- 
men. Strangely  enough,  nearly  all  men  of  action 
incline  to  Fatalism,  while  the  majority  of  thinkers 
incline  to  Providence. 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  am,"  replied  Esther,  with  the 
gentleness  of  an  angel,  "  but  I  love  Lucien,  and  I 
shall  die  loving  him." 

"  Come  to  breakfast,"  said  the  Spaniard,  roughly, 
"  and  pray  to  heaven  that  Lucien  may  not  be  married 
soon,  for  when  he  does  marry  you  will  never  see  him 
again." 

"  His  marriage  will  be  my  death,"  she  said. 

She  let  the  false  priest  enter  the  dining-room  before 
her  that  she  might  lift  herself  to  Lucien's  ear  unseen. 

"  Is  it  your  will,"  she  asked,  "  that  I  shall  remain 
under  the  power  of  that  man  who  puts  those  two 
hyenas  to  watch  me  ?  " 

Lucien  bowed  his  head.  The  poor  girl  instantly 
repressed  her  sadness  and  seemed  joyful  ;  but  she 
was  horribly  oppressed  at  heart.  It  required  more 
than  a  year  of  constant  and  devoted  care  before  she 
could  accustom  herself  to  the  presence  of  the  terrible 
creatures  whom  Herrera  called  his  watch-dogs. 

Lucien's  conduct  since  his  return  to  Paris  in  com- 
pany with  the  Abbé  Don  Carlos  Herrera  had  been 
marked  by  a  policy  so  deep  and  calculated  that  it  was 
certain  to  excite,  and  did  excite,  the  jealous  ill-will  of 
all  his  former  friends,  towards  whom  he  attempted  no 


Lucien  de  Rubempré. 


83 


other  vengeance  than  that  of  making  them  furious  by 
his  success,  his  irreproachable  style  of  living,  and  his 
method  of  keeping  them  all  at  a  distance.  The  author 
of  "  Daisies,"  the  poet  once  so  expansive,  so  commu- 
nicative, became  cold  and  reserved.  De  Marsay,  that 
type  adopted  by  Parisian  youth,  did  not  impart  to  his 
actions  and  to  his  conversation  more  reserve  than  did 
Lucien.  As  for  his  wit,  the  author  and  journalist  had 
already  proved  that.  De  Marsay,  to  whom  some  per- 
sons compared  Lucien,  giving  their  preference  to  the 
poet,  was  petty  enough  to  be  annoyed  by  it.  Lucien, 
who  was  much  in  favor  with  men  in  secret  possession 
of  governmental  power,  abandoned  so  completely  all 
desire  for  literary  fame  that  he  was  quite  indifferent 
to  the  success  of  his  novel,  republished  under  its 
original  name,  "  The  Archer  of  Charles  X.,"  and  to 
the  noise  made  by  his  collection  of  sonnets,  sold  off 
by  Dauriat  in  a  single  week. 

"A  posthumous  success,"  he  said,  laughing,  to 
Mademoiselle  des  Touches,  who  complimented  him. 

The  terrible  Spaniard  held  his  creature  with  an  arm 
of  iron  in  the  path  which  ends  in  the  flourish  of  trum- 
pets and  profits  that  await  the  patient  politician. 
Lucien  had  taken  the  apartment  of  Baudenord  on  the 
quai  Malaquais,  so  as  to  be  nearer  to  the  rue  Taitbout. 
The  abbé  had  three  rooms  in  the  same  house  on  the 
fourth  floor.  Lucien  kept  only  one  horse  for  saddle 
and  cabriolet,  one  servant,  and  a  groom.  When  he 
did  not  dine  out  he  dined  with  Esther.  The  abbé 
kept  so  close  a  watch  on  the  household  of  the  quai 
Malaquais,  that  Lucien  did  not  spend  in  all  more  than 
ten  thousand  francs  a  year.    Ten  thousand  francs  suf- 


84 


Lucien  de  Rubempré. 


ficed  for  Esther,  thanks  to  the  unremitting  and  inex- 
plicable devotion  of  Europe  and  Asia.  Lucien  adopted 
great  precaution  in  going  to  and  from  the  rue  Taitbout  ; 
always  going  there  in  a  hackney  coach  and  driving  into 
the  court-yard.  His  passion  for  Esther,  and  the  exist- 
ence of  the  household  in  the  rue  Taitbout  remained 
therefore  unknown  to  the  world,  and  were  no  injury  to 
any  of  his  political  relations  and  enterprises.  No  word 
on  the  subject  ever  escaped  him.  His  faults  of  that 
kind  with  Coralie  had  given  him  experience.  His 
daily  life  had  the  regularity  of  good  society,  behind 
which  many  a  mystery  can  be  hid.  He  was  always 
to  be  found  at  home  in  the  morning  from  ten  o'clock 
to  half-past  one  ;  then  he  went  to  the  Bois  or  paid 
visits  till  five  ;  and  he  stayed  in  society  at  parties  or 
theatres  every  night  till  one  in  the  morning.  He  was 
seldom  seen  on  foot,  and  thus  he  avoided  his  former 
acquaintances.  When  he  was  saluted  by  certain  jour- 
nalists and  old  comrades  he  replied  by  an  inclination 
of  the  head,  civil  enough  to  make  it  impossible  to  be 
angry,  yet  expressive  of  that  cutting  disdain  which 
puts  an  end  to  all  friendly  familiarity.  He  soon  rid 
himself  in  this  way  of  men  whom  he  no  longer  wished 
to  know.  His  old  hatred  kept  him  from  going  to  see 
Madame  d'Espard,  who  had  several  times  made  ad- 
vances to  receive  him  ;  but  when  he  met  her  at  the 
houses  of  the  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse,  Mademoi- 
selle des  Touches,  the  Comtesse  de  Montcornet  and 
others,  he  treated  her  with  exquisite  politeness.  This 
hatred,  shared  by  Madame  d'Espard,  compelled  Lucien 
to  practise  some  prudence,  for  we  shall  see  how  he 
deepened  it  in  the  marquise  by  allowing  himself  a 


Lucien  de  Rubtmpre. 


85 


piece  of  revenge,  which  won  him,  moreover,  a  strong 
lecture  from  the  abbé. 

"  You  are  not  yet  powerful  enough  to  revenge  your- 
self on  any  one,  no  matter  who/'  said  the  Spaniard. 
"When  we  are  travelling  under  a  hot  sun,  there's  no 
stopping  to  gather  flowers." 

There  was  too  much  future  promise  and  too  much 
real  superiority  in  Lucien  not  to  make  the  young  men 
whom  his  sudden  return  to  Paris  with  a  fortune  daz- 
zled and  galled,  delighted  to  do  him  some  ill-natured 
turn.  Lucien,  who  knew  he  had  enemies,  was  not  igno- 
rant of  these  intentions  ;  for  the  abbé  was  constantly 
warning  his  adopted  son  against  the  treachery  of  the 
world  and  the  imprudence  so  fatal  to  youth.  Lucien 
was  made  to  relate  the  events  of  each  day  to  him. 
Thanks  to  the  counsels  of  this  mentor,  the  young  man 
baffled  the  keenest  of  all  curiosities,  —  that  of  society. 
Protected  by  his  newly  acquired  English  gravity,  sup- 
ported by  the  redoubts  thrown  up  by  diplomatic  cir- 
cumspection, he  gave  no  one  the  right  or  the  occasion 
to  cast  an  eye  on  his  affairs.  His  young  and  beautiful 
face  had  ended  by  becoming  as  impassible  in  society 
as  that  of  a  princess  at  a  public  ceremony. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  year  1829,  nearly  five  years 
after  the  period  at  which  we  have  taken  up  this  portion 
of  his  history,  a  prospect  presented  itself  of  his  mar- 
riage to  the  eldest  daughter  of  the  Duchesse  de  Grand- 
lieu,  who  had  no  less  than  four  daughters  to  establish. 
No  one  doubted  that  the  king,  in  view  of  such  an  alli- 
ance, would  graciously  restore  to  him  the  title  of  mar- 
quis. Such  a  marriage  would  secure  his  political 
fortunes;  for  he  would  probably  be  sent  at  once  as 


86 


Lucien  de  Ruhempré. 


ambassador  to  a  German  court.  For  the  last  four 
years,  especially,  Lucien's  conduct  had  been  absolutely 
irreproachable,  thanks  to  the  abbe's  scheme,  so  that 
de  Marsay,  that  acute  social  observer,  said  of  him, 
"  That  fellow  must  have  some  very  strong  individual 
behind  him." 

Lucien  had  become  almost  a  personage.  His  passion 
for  Esther  had  aided  him  not  a  little  in  playing  the 
part  of  a  serious  man.  A  habit  of  that  kind  guaran- 
tees an  ambitious  man  from  much  folly  ;  caring  for  no 
other  woman,  he  is  not  caught  by  reactions  of  the 
physical  over  the  mental.  As  to  the  happiness  enjoyed 
by  Lucien,  it  was  the  realization  of  the  penniless  poet's 
dream  in  a  garret.  Esther,  while  reminding  him  of 
Coralie,  completely  effaced  her.  All  loving  and  devoted 
women  want  seclusion,  —  the  life  of  the  pearl  in  the 
depths  of  ocean  ;  but,  with  most  of  them,  this  is  only 
a  charming  caprice,  a  temporary  pleasure  to  be  talked 
of,  a  proof  of  love  which  they  dream  of  giving,  but 
only  give  for  a  short  while,  —  whereas  Esther,  always 
on  the  morrow  of  her  first  happiness,  living  at  all 
hours  for  Lucien  only,  had  no  impulse  of  curiosity  or 
desire  for  chaDge  in  four  years.  She  gave  her  whole 
mind  to  remaining  under  the  terms  of  the  agreement 
laid  down  for  her  by  the  fatal  hand  of  the  false  abbé. 
Neither  did  she  ever  use  her  power  over  Lucien  to  ask 
him  a  single  question  about  Herrera,  who,  indeed,  so 
terrified  her  imagination  that  she  dared  not  think  of 
him.  The  cautious  benefits  of  that  inexplicable  per- 
sonage, to  whom  Esther  certainly  owed  her  rescue,  her 
training,  the  habits  of  respectable  life,  and  her  regen- 
eration, seemed  to  the  girl  like  advances  from  hell. 


Lucien  de  Eubempré. 


87 


44 1  must  pay  for  them  some  day,"  she  said  to  her- 
self in  terror. 

On  fine  evenings  she  drove  out  -in  a  hired  carriage, 
always  to  one  of  those  charming  woods  in  the  vicinity 
of  Paris,  —  Boulogne,  Vincennes,  Romainville,  or  Ville 
d'Avray,  —  often  with  Lucien,  sometimes  alone  with 
Europe.  ^Vhen  there  she  walked  about  quite  fearlessly, 
for  if  Lucien  was  not  with  her,  she  was  accompanied 
by  a  chasseur,  whose  muscle  was  that  of  an  athlete. 
This  third  keeper  carried,  like  English  footmen,  a  cane 
called  bâton  de  longueur,  known  to  all  players  of  single- 
stick, with  which  he  could  defy  assailants.  In  accord- 
ance with  an  order  given  by  the  abbé,  Esther  had  never 
spoken  to  this  man,  whose  name  was  Paccard. 

Parisians,  especially  Parisian  women,  know  nothing 
of  the  charm  of  driving  out  into  the  woods  of  a 
fine  night.  The  silence,  the  solitude,  the  balmy  air, 
the  moonlight,  have  the  calming  effect  of  a  bath. 
Usually  Esther  started  at  ten  o'clock,  and  returned 
about  half-past  two.  She  was  late,  therefore,  in  the 
morning,  being  seldom  up  before  eleven.  Then  she 
oathed,  and  went  through  the  minutiae  of  the  toilet: 
ignored  by  most  of  the  busy  women  of  Paris  as  taking 
too  much  time,  and  practised  only  by  great  ladies  and 
courtesans  who  have  time  on  their  hands.  She  was 
never  ready  until  Lucien  came,  and  then  she  seemed  to 
him  like  a  flower  freshly  opened.  She  had  no  thought 
in  life  but  his  happiness  ;  she  was  his  as  a  part  of  his 
being  ;  as  such  she  left  him  the  most  absolute  freedom. 
Never  did  she  attempt  to  cast  a  glance  beyond  the 
sphere  in  which  they  lived.  Happiness  has  no  history, 
and  the  tellers  of  tales  in  all  lands  know  this  so  well 


88  Lucien  de  Bubempré. 


that  they  wind  up  their  stories  with  one  sentence,  — • 
"  They  were  happy." 

Lucien  was  thus  at  liberty  to  live  as  he  pleased  in 
society,  and  to  follow  out  what  seemed  to  be  the  ne- 
cessities of  his  position.  During  these  years,  when  he 
slowly  made  his  way,  he  rendered  secret  services  to 
certain  statesmen  by  aiding  their  work.  In  this  he 
showed  the  utmost  discretion.  He  cultivated,  more 
especially,  the  society  of  Madame  de  Sérizy,  with 
whom,  indeed,  the  salons  averred  he  was  on  the  most 
intimate  terms.  Madame  de  Sérizy  had  won  Lucien 
away  from  the  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse,  who,  it  was 
said,  no  longer  cared  for  him,  —  a  reason  given  by 
many  women  to  explain  a  defeat.  Lucien  was,  so  to 
speak,  in  the  bosom  of  the  Church,  being  intimate  with 
several  women  who  were  friends  of  the  archbishop  of 
Paris.  Reserved  and  discreet,  he  bided  his  time  pa- 
tiently. The  speech  we  have  quoted  of  de  Marsay 
(who  by  this  time  was  married,  and  made  his  wife  lead 
the  same  secluded  life  that  Esther  led)  contained  more 
than  one  observation.  But  the  submarine  dangers  that 
threatened  Lucien's  position  will  appear  in  the  course 
of  this  history  without  further  explanation. 


Lucien  de  Eubemmé. 


VI. 


Such  were  the  circumstances  when,  on  a  fine  night 
in  the  month  of  June,  1829,  the  Baron  de  Nucingen 
was  returning  to  Paris  from  the  country-seat  of  a 
brother-banker  with  whom  he  had  dined.  The  estate 
was  in  Brie,  twenty-four  miles  from  Paris,  and  as  the 
baron's  coachman  had  boasted  of  being  able  to  take 
his  master  there  and  back  with  the  same  horses,  he 
naturally  drove  slowly  on  the  way  home.  As  the  car- 
riage entered  the  wood  of  Vincennes  the  coachman, 
liberally  treated  at  the  banker's  château,  was  drunk, 
and  sound  asleep  though  he  held  the  reins.  The  foot- 
man behind  was  snoring  like  a  top.  The  baron  wanted 
to  think;  but  the  gentle  somnolence  of  digestion  laid 
hold  of  him  on  the  bridge  at  Gournay.  By  the  slack- 
ness of  the  reins  the  horses  understood  the  coachman's 
state  ;  they  heard  the  bass  of  the  footman's  nose,  they 
felt  they  were  masters  of  the  situation,  and  they 
profited  by  this  brief  half-hour  of  liberty  to  go  as  they 
pleased.  Presently,  overcome  by  the  curiosity  which 
everybody  must  have  remarked  in  domestic  animals, 
they  stopped  short  to  examine  some  other  animals,  to 
whom,  no  doubt,  they  said  in  equine  language  :  "To 
whom  do  you  belong?  What  do  you  have  to  do? 
Are  you  happy?" 

When  the  carriage  rolled  no  longer  the  baron  woke 
up.    At  first  he  knew  not  where  he  was  ;  then  he  was 


90 


Lucien  de  Ruhempré, 


surprised  by  a  celestial  vision,  which  came  to  him,  %8 
nothing  else  had  ever  done,  without  calculation.  The 
moon  was  so  bright  he  could  have  read  by  it  ;  in  the 
silence  of  the  woods  at  that  still  hour  he  saw  a  woman 
alone,  who,  as  she  was  getting  into  a  hired  carriage, 
took  notice  of  the  singular  spectacle  of  the  sleepy 
calèche.  At  sight  of  this  vision  the  baron  felt  as 
though  illuminated  by  an  inward  light.  Seeing  herself 
admired,  the  young  woman  lowered  her  veil  with  a 
frightened  gesture.  The  chasseur  uttered  a  hoarse 
order,  and  the  carriage  rolled  rapidly  away.  The 
baron  was  conscious  of  an  inward  convulsion  ;  the 
blood  rushed  like  fire  from  his  feet  to  his  head,  his  head 
sent  back  the  flame  to  his  heart,  his  throat  contracted. 
The  unfortunate  man  feared  an  apoplectic  indigestion  ; 
but,  notwithstanding  that  fear,  he  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"Follow  that  carriage!"  he  cried  in  his  German 
accent.    "A  hundred  francs  if  you  overtake  it!" 

At  the  words  "  a  hundred  francs,"  the  coachman 
woke  up  ;  the  footman  behind  heard  them  in  his 
dreams.  The  baron  repeated  the  order,  the  coachman 
put  his  horses  to  a  gallop,  and  succeeded  in  overtaking 
at  the  Barrière  du  Trône  a  hired  carriage  similar  to  the 
one  in  which  the  baron  had  seen  his  angel,  but  which 
contained  the  head  clerk  of  a  celebrated  shop  with  a 
lady  from  the  rue  Vivienne.  The  blunder  was  con- 
sternation to  the  baron. 

The  Baron  de  Nucingen  was  at  this  time  sixty  years 
of  age,  and  absolutely  indifferent  to  all  women,  includ- 
ing his  wife.  He  boasted  of  never  having  known  the 
love  that  makes  a  man  commit  follies.  He  regarded  it 
bs  a  happiness  to  have  done  with  women,  the  best  of 


Lucien  de  Buhempre. 


91 


whom,  he  was  in  the  habit  of  saying,  were  not  worth 
what  they  cost.  Natural  love,  artificial  love,  and  self- 
love,  love  of  ease  and  of  vanity,  decent  love  and  con- 
jugal love,  eccentric  love,  the  baron  had  bought  all, 
and  knew  all,  except  real  love.  This  love  had  now 
descended  upon  him  as  an  eagle  swoops  upon  its  prey, 
as  it  descended  upon  Gentz,  the  confidant  of  Prince 
Metternich.  We  all  know  the  follies  that  old  diplo- 
mat committed  for  Fanny  Ellsler,  whose  rehearsals 
took  much  more  of  his  time  than  European  interests. 
The  woman  who  had  just  convulsed  the  iron-lined 
money-box  called  Nucingen  appeared  to  him  as  one 
of  those  women  who  are  unique  in  their  generation. 
It  is  not  certain  that  Titian's  mistress,  or  Leonardo's 
Mona  Lisa,  or  Raffaelle's  Fornarina  was  more  beau- 
tiful than  Esther,  in  whom  the  most  practised  Parisian 
eye  could  no  longer  detect  a  sign  of  the  courtesan. 
The  baron  was,  above  all,  bewildered  and  dazzled  by 
the  air  of  nobility  and  distinction  which  Esther  now 
possessed  in  the  highest  degree.  During  the  whole  of 
the  following  week  he  went  nightly  to  the  Bois  de  Vin- 
cennes  ;  then  to  the  Bois  de  Boulogne  ;  then  to  Ville 
d'Avray,  and  the  woods  of  Meudon  ;  in  short,  to  all 
the  environs  of  Paris,  without  ever  meeting  Esther. 
That  splendid  Jewish  figure,  which  he  said  was  "a 
form  out  of  the  Bible,"  was  always  before  his  eyes, 
and  in  the  end  he  lost  health  and  appetite. 

Delphine  de  Nucingen  was  in  the  habit  of  giving 
Sunday  dinners.  She  had  taken  that  day  for  her 
receptions,  having  remarked  that  in  the  great  world 
no  one  went  to  the  theatres  on  Sunday,  and  tnat  the 
day  was  generally  an  unemployed  one.    The  invasion 


92 


Lucien  de  Rubempré. 


of  the  shopkeeping  and  bourgeois  classes  bave  made 
Sunday  as  silly  a  day  in  Paris  as  it  is  wearisome  in 
London.  The  company  at  one  of  these  dinners  (about 
three  weeks  after  Nucingen's  chance  meeting  with 
Esther)  consisted  of  Desplein,  the  famous  surgeon, 
Keller,  Rastignac,  de  Marsay,  du  Tillet,  all  friends  of 
the  house,  the  Comte  de  Gondreville,  father-in  law 
of  François  Keller,  the  Chevalier  d'Espard,  des  Lu- 
peaulx,  Horace  Bianchon,  Desplein's  favorite  pupil, 
Beaudenord  and  his  wife,  the  Comte  and  Comtesse  de 
Montcornet,  Blondet,  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  and 
Konti,  and  finally  Lucien  de  Rubempré,  for  whom 
Rastignac  had  for  the  last  five  years  shown  the  warmest 
friendship,  by  order,  as  the  advertisements  say. 

"We  shall  never  get  rid  of  that  man  easily,"  said 
Blondet  to  Rastignac,  as  Lucien  entered  the  room, 
handsomer  and  more  fastidiously  dressed  than  ever. 

"  You  had  better  make  a  friend  of  him,  for  he  is 
formidable,"  replied  Rastignac. 

44  He?"  said  de  Marsay.  44  I  never  heard  of  people 
being  formidable  unless  their  position  was  clear  ;  and 
his  is  more  unattacked  than  unassailable.  What  does 
he  live  on?-  Where  does  his  money  come  from?  He 
has,  to  my  knowledge,  some  sixty  thousand  francs  of 
debt  upon  him." 

"  He  has  found  a  rich  protector  in  a  Spanish  priest, 
who  has  taken  a  fancy  to  him,"  said  Rastignac. 

44  He  is  to  marry  the  eldest  Mademoiselle  de  Grand- 
lieu,"  said  Mademoiselle  des  Touches. 

44  Yes;  but,"  said  the  Chevalier  d'Espard,  "he  is 
required  to  buy  an  estate  with  a  revenue  of  thirty 
thousand  francs  a  year  to  secure  the  sum  he  settles  on 


Lucien  de  Rubemjpré. 


93 


the  bride.  To  do  that  he  needs  a  million,  —  more  than 
he  can  pick  up  at  the  feet  of  any  Spaniard." 

"  That 's  a  large  price,  for  Clotilde  is  very  plain," 
Baid  Madame  de  Nucingen,  who  gave  herself  the  airs 
of  calling  Mademoiselle  de  Grandlieu  by  her  Christian 
name,  as  if  she,  née  Goriot,  frequented  that  society. 

"No,"  remarked  du  Tillet,  "the  daughter  of  a 
duchess  is  never  plain  to  such  men  as  we,  above  all 
when  she  gives  us  the  title  of  marquis  and  a  diplomatic 
post." 

"  I  am  no  longer  surprised  at  Lucien' s  gravity," 
said  de  Marsay.  "  Most  likely  he  has  n't  a  sou,  and 
does  n't  know  how  to  get  out  of  his  position." 

44  But  Mademoiselle  de  Grandlieu  adores  him,"  said 
the  Comtesse  de  Montcornet,  44  and,  by  her  influence, 
he  may  be  able  to  make  better  conditions." 

44  What  will  he  do  with  that  sister  and  brother-in- 
law  in  Angoulême?  "  asked  the  Chevalier  d'Espard. 

44  The  sister  is  rich,"  answered  Rastignac,  44  and  he 
calls  her  now  Madame  Séchard  de  Marsac." 

44  Well,  even  if  there  are  difficulties  in  his  way,  he's 
a  handsome  fellow,"  said  Bianchon,  rising  to  bow  to 
the  young  man. 

44  Good-evening,  dear  friend,"  said  Rastignac,  ex- 
changing a  warm  shake  of  the  hand  with  Lucien. 

De  Marsay  bowed  coldly,  after  Lucien  had  bowed 
to  him. 

Before  dinner,  Desplein  and  Bianchon  took  notice 
of  the  evident  illness  of  the  Baron  de  Nucingen,  per- 
ceiving however  that  the  cause  was  mental.  Bianchon 
declared,  impossible  as  it  seemed  that  this  statesman 
of  the  Bourse  should  be  in  love,  that  the  root  of  the 


94 


Lucien  de  Rubemjpré. 


trouble  lay  there.  After  dinner,  when  the  company 
dispersed  about  the  garden,  the  intimates  of  the  house 
surrounded  the  banker,  endeavoring  to  clear  up  the 
mystery  as  soon  as  Bianchon  had  broached  his  theory. 

44  Do  you  know,  baron,"  said  de  Marsay,  "  that  you 
are  losing  flesh  rapidly  ;  and  people  suspect  you  of 
violating  the  laws  of  financial  nature?" 

44  Never  !  "  said  the  baron. 

44  Yes,  they  do,"  returned  de  Marsay.  44  They  say 
you  are  in  love." 

44  That  is  true,"  said  Nucingen,  piteously.  44 1  sigh 
for  an  unknown  object." 

"  You  in  love  !  you  !  "  cried  the  Chevalier  d'Espard. 
44  What  fatuity  !  " 

44 1  know  that  nothing  was  ever  more  ridiculous  than 
to  be  in  love  at  my  age,"  said  the  baron,  in  his  ludi- 
crous German  accent.  44  But  I  can't  help  it,  the  thing 
is  done." 

44  Is  it  a  woman  in  society?"  asked  Lucien. 

44  Of  course,"  said  de  Marsay,  44  the  baron  wouldn't 
get  so  thin  except  for  a  hopeless  love  ;  he  has  money 
enough  to  buy  up  all  the  women  who  could  or  would 
sell  themselves." 

44 1  don't  know  who  she  is,"  said  Nucingen.  "  I  can 
tell  you  one  thing,  — because  Madame  de  Nucingen  is 
in  the  salon,  —  I  have  never  known  till  now  what  love 
is.    It  is  enough  to  make  me  lose  flesh." 

44  Where  did  you  see  her?  "  asked  Rastignac. 

44  In  a  carriage,  at  midnight,  in  the  Bois  de  Vin- 
cennes." 

44  Describe  her,"  said  de  Marsay. 

"A  bodice  of  white  gauze,  a  rose-colored  gown,  a 


Lucien  de  Rubempré. 


95 


white  scarf,  white  veil,  —  a  figure  truly  biblical  !  eyes 
of  fire,  an  Eastern  skin  —  " 

44  You  dreamed  it,"  said  Lucien,  laughing.  * 

"  It  is  true  I  was  sleeping  like  a  —  " 

44  Was  she  alone?  "  asked  du  Tillet,  interrupting  the 
banker's  sentence. 

44  Yes,"  said  the  baron,  in  a  dolorous  tone,  44  except 
for  a  chasseur  behind  the  carriage,  and  a  waiting- 
maid." 

44  Lucien  looks  as  if  he  knew  her,"  cried  Rastignac, 
detecting  a  smile  on  the  young  man's  face. 

44  Who  would  n't  know  the  sort  of  woman  likely  to 
go  at  midnight  to  meet  Nucingen  ?  "  retorted  Lucien, 
turning  on  his  heel. 

44  She  can  hardly  be  any  one  in  society,  or  the  baron 
would  have  recognized  the  chasseur remarked  the 
Chevalier  d'Espard. 

44 1  never  saw  him  before,"  said  the  baron  ;  44 1  have 
had  the  police  looking  for  her  for  the  last  forty  days, 
and  all  to  no  purpose." 

44  She  had  better  cost  you  a  few  hundred  thousand 
francs  than  your  life,"  said  Desplein.  44  At  your  age 
a  passion  without  nourishment  is  dangerous  ;  it  may 
cost  you  your  life." 

"Yes,"  replied  Nucingen,  44  what  I  eat  doesn't 
nourish  me  ;  the  air  seems  deadly.  I  go  every  day  to 
the  Bois  de  Vincennes  to  see  the  spot  where  I  saw  her. 
I  can't  attend  to  my  affairs  ;  if  I  paid  a  million  to  find 
her  I  should  save  money,  for  I  can't  do  anything  on 
the  Bourse  —  ask  du  Tillet." 

44  True,"  responded  du  Tillet.  44  He  has  taken  a  dis- 
gust for  business  ;  a  sign  of  death  in  a  man  like  bim." 


96 


Lucien  de  Rulempré. 


"Sign  of  love,"  eaid  Nucingen,  44  and  to  me  tney 
are  the  same  thing." 

The  naïveté  of  the  old  man,  no  longer  a  lynx,  but 
for  the  first  time  in  his  life  conscious  that  there  was 
something  more  precious  and  sacred  than  gold,  touched 
these  blasés  minds  ;  some  exchanged  smiles,  but  most 
of  them  looked  at  Nucingen  with  one  thought  expressed 
on  their  faces,  "So  strong  a  man  to  come  to  this  !  " 

From  the  baron's  description  Lucien  had,  of  course, 
recognized  Esther.  Greatly  annoyed  at  his  smile  being 
noticed,  he  took  advantage  of  the  talk  becoming  gen- 
eral, while  coffee  was  served,  to  disappear. 

"What  has  become  of  Monsieur  de  Rubempré?" 
asked  Madame  de  Nucingen. 

44  He  is  faithful  to  the  motto  of  his  family,  Quid  me 
continebit?"  replied  Rastignac. 

4  4  Which  means  either,  4  Who  can  hold  me?'  or,  'J. 
am  unconquerable/  whichever  you  please,"  said  de 
Mars  ay. 

Like  all  despairing  patients,  the  baron  snatched  at 
anything  that  seemed  like  hope  ;  and  he  resolved  to 
have  Lucien  watched  by  other  spies  than  those  of 
Louchard,  the  ablest  man  on  the  commercial  police  of 
Paris,  with  whom  he  had  been  in  communication  for 
the  last  fortnight  on  the  matter  of  his  mysterious 
woman. 

Lucien,  before  paying  his  usual  visit  to  Esther,  in- 
tended to  spend  at  the  hôtel  de  Grandlieu  the  two 
hours  which  made  Mademoiselle  Clotilde-Frédérique 
de  Grandlieu  the  happiest  girl  in  the  faubourg  Saint- 
Germain.  The  prudence  which  now  characterized  the 
conduct  of  this  ambitious  young  man  counselled  him 


Lucien  de  Ruhempré. 


97 


to  inform  Carlos  Herrera  immediately  of  the  effect 
produced  by  the  smile  which  had  been  forced  from 
him  on  hearing  Esther's  portrait  made  by  the  Baron 
de  Nucingen.  The  baron's  infatuation  for  Esther, 
and  his  idea  of  putting  the  police  upon  her  traces, 
were  events  of  enough  importance  to  communicate 
without  loss  of  time  to  a  man  who  had  sought  in  a 
priest's  cassock  the  shelter  that  criminals  formerly 
found  in  the  churches.  From  the  rue  Saint-Lazare, 
where  the  Nucingens  lived,  to  the  rue  Saint-Dominique, 
in  which  is  the  hôtel  de  Grandlieu,  Lucien's  way  led 
him  past  his  own  house  on  the  quai  Malaquais.  He 
found  the  abbé  smoking  his  breviary,  that  is  to  say, 
coloring  a  pipe,  before  he  went  to  bed.  This  strangest 
of  men  had  ended  by  reûouncing  Spanish  cigars,  find- 
ing them  by  no  means  strong  enough. 

44  This  is  getting  serious,"  said  the  abbé,  when  Lu- 
cien had  told  him  all.  "  If  the  baron  employs  Louchard 
to  get  upon  the  girl's  traces,  he  will  certainly  have  the 
sense  to  put  a  spy  upon  yours,  and  all  will  be  discov- 
ered. I  have  barely  time  to-night  and  to-morrow 
morning  to  shuffle  the  cards  for  the  game  I  shall  play 
against  the  baron,  whom  I  must,  before  all  else,  con- 
vince of  the  impotence  of  the  police.  When  that  old 
lynx  has  lost  all  hope  of  finding  the  lamb,  I  '11  sell  her 
for  what  she  is  worth  to  him." 

44  Sell  Esther!"  cried  Lucien,  whose  first  impulses 
were  always  right, 

44  You  forget  our  present  position,"  said  the  abbé. 

Lucien's  head  dropped. 

44  No  money,"  continued  the  sham  priest,  44  and 
sixty  thousand  francs  of  debt  to  pay!    If  you  wish 

7 


98 


Lucien  de  Rubemprê, 


to  marry  Clotilde  de  Grandlieu,  you  must  buy  a  prop- 
erty worth  a  million  to  secure  a  dowry  to  that  ugly 
creature.  Esther  is  a  game  on  which  I  will  set  the 
lynx  in  such  a  way  as  to  get  the  million  out  of  him. 
That 's  my  business." 

"  Esther  will  never  —  " 

"  It  is  my  business,  I  tell  you." 

"  She  '11  die  of  it." 

"  Then  it  will  be  the  business  of  the  Pompes  Fu- 
nèbres. Besides,  what  else  is  there  to  do?"  asked  the 
savage  brute,  cutting  short  Lucien's  elegies  by  the  at- 
titude he  took.  "  How  many  generals  died  in  the 
flower  of  their  age  for  the  Emperor  Napoleon?"  he 
asked,  presently,  after  a  moment's  silence.  "  Women 
can  always  be  had.  In  1821  you  thought  no  one  could 
be  like  Coralie  ;  but  you  found  Esther.  After  Esther 
will  come  —  do  you  know  who  ?  The  unknown  woman  ! 
she  who,  of  all  women,  is  the  most  beautiful  ;  and  you 
can  look  for  her  in  the  German  capital,  where  the  son- 
in-law  of  the  Duc  de  Grandlieu  will  represent  the  King 
of  France.  Besides,  please  to  tell  me,  baby  that  you 
are,  how  you  know  that  Esther  will  die  of  it.  Let  me 
act  ;  you  need  not  think  of  anything.  The  matter  is 
mine  ;  it  concerns  me,  —  only,  you  must  give  up  Esther 
for  a  week  or  two.  Now,  go  and  warble  to  your 
Grandlieu  ;  I  must  be  stirring  at  once.  You  will  find 
Esther  rather  sad  when  you  see  her  ;  but  tell  her  to 
obey  me.  Our  cloak  of  virtue,  our  mantle  of  inno- 
cence —  the  screens  behind  which  all  great  men  hide 
their  iniquities  —  are  in  danger  ;  and  the  danger  threat- 
ens my  glorious  I,  —  you,  who  must  never  be  suspected. 
Chance  has  served  us  better  than  my  own  thoughts, 


Lucien  de  Ruhemprê. 


99 


which,  for  two  months,  have  revolved  about  this 
point." 

Casting  forth  these  terrible  sentences  one  by  one, 
like  pistol-shots,  the  false  priest  hastily  dressed  him- 
self, and  prepared  to  go  out. 

"  Your  joy  is  visible  !  "  cried  Lucien.  "  You  have 
never  liked  poor  Esther,  and  you  are  only  too  happy 
that  the  moment  has  come  to  get  rid  of  her." 

"  You  have  never  ceased  to  love  her,  have  you? 
Well,  I've  never  ceased  to  execrate  her.  But  she 
served  my  purpose,  and  I  have  always  acted  as  though 
I  loved  the  girl,  though  I  held  her  life,  through  Asia,  in 
my  hands.  A  few  mistaken  mushrooms  in  a  stew,  and 
all  was  over.  Yet  Mademoiselle  Esther  lives.  She  is 
happy  because  you  love  her  !  Don't  play  the  baby 
now.  It  is  four  years  that  we  have  watched  and 
waited  for  a  turn  of  luck  for  or  against  us.  Well,  then, 
let  us  display  something  more  than  talent  in  peeling 
the  fruit  that  the  hand  of  fate  has  this  day  flung  to  us. 
In  this  throw  of  the  dice  there  is,  as  there  is  in  every- 
thing, something  good  and  something  bad.  Do  you 
know  what  I  was  thinking  of  as  you  came  in  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Of  making  myself  here,  as  I  did  at  Barcelona  with 
Asia's  help,  the  heir  of  a  bigoted  old  woman." 
"  A  crime?  " 

41  There  was  no  other  resource  that  I  could  see  to 
secure  your  future.  Our  creditors  are  getting  restless. 
Once  pursued  by  duns  and  bailiffs  and  driven  from  the 
hôtel  de  Grandlieu,  what  would  become  of  you?  Your 
note  to  the  devil  was  due." 

And  the  false  priest  described  by  a  gesture  the 


100 


Lucien  de  Ruhempré. 


suicide  of  a  man  who  flings  himself  into  the  water. 
Then  he  turned  on  Lucien  one  of  those  fixed  and  pene- 
trating looks  by  which  the  will  of  strong  men  enter  the 
souls  of  feeble  ones.  This  look,  which  held  the  3Toung 
man  spell-bound  and  had  the  effect  of  relaxing  all 
resistance,  showed  that  there  existed  between  Lucien 
and  the  false  abbé  not  only  certain  secrets  of  life  and 
death,  but  also  sentiments  paramount  to  all  ordinary 
sentiments,  as  was  the  man  himself  to  the  baseness  of 
his  position. 

Compelled  to  live  an  alien  to  social  life,  into  which 
the  laws  forbade  him  ever  to  return,  exhausted  by 
desperate  and  terrible  resistances,  but  endowed  with 
a  force  of  soul  which  preyed  upon  him,  this  man,  at 
once  ignoble  and  grand,  obscure  yet  famous,  con- 
sumed, above  all,  by  the  fever  of  life,  lived  again  in 
the  elegant  person  of  Lucien,  whose  soul  had  become 
his  soul.  He  had  made  himself  represented  in  the 
social  life  to  which  he  could  never  return  by  this  poet, 
to  whom  he  gave  his  own  tenacity  and  his  iron  will. 
To  him,  Lucien  was  more  than  a  son,  more  than  a 
beloved  woman,  more  than  family,  more  than  life, — 
he  was  his  Vengeance  ;  and,  inasmuch  as  strong  souls 
care  far  more  for  a  sentiment  than  for  life  itself, 
he  had  attached  Lucien  to  him  by  indissoluble  bonds. 
Having  bought  the  life  of  the  despairing  poet  on  the 
verge  of  suicide,  he  proposed  to  him  one  of  those 
infernal  compacts  which  are  supposed  to  exist  only 
in  the  pages  of  a  novel,  but  the  possibility  of  which, 
as  a  matter  of  fact,  is  frequently  shown  in  the  police 
courts  by  celebrated  legal  dramas.  In  bestowing  upon 
Lucien  all  the  joys  and  pleasures  of  Parisian  life,  in 


Lucien  de  fiubempré. 


101 


proving  to  him  that  he  could  once  more  create  for  him- 
self a  splendid  future,  he  had  made  the  young  man  a 
thing  of  his  own.  No  sacrifice  whatever  cost  this 
strange  man  anything,  so  long  as  it  concerned  his 
second  self.  In  spite  of  his  own  vast  strength,  he 
was  so  feeble  against  the  fancies  of  his  creature  that 
he  had  ended  by  confiding  to  him  his  secrets.  Per- 
haps this  purely  mental  participation  in  crime  was  a 
bond  the  more  between  them.  From  the  day  when 
la  Torpille  was  spirited  away,  Lucien  knew  the  hor- 
rible foundations  on  which  his  prosperity  was  based. 
The  cassock  of  the  Spanish  priest  hid  Jacques  Collin, 
a  celebrity  of  the  galleys,  who,  ten  years  earlier,  had 
lived,  under  the  vulgar  name  of  Vautrin,  in  the  Pension 
Vauquer,  where  Rastignac  and  Bianchon  were  also 
living.    (See  u  Père  Goriot.") 

Jacques  Collin,  also  called  "  Trompe-la-Mort,"  who 
escaped  from  the  galleys  at  Rochefort  almost  as  soon 
as  he  was  returned  there,  had  profited  by  the  example 
of  the  famous  Comte  de  Sainte-Hélène,  modifying 
however,  the  more  vicious  part  of  Coignard's  bold 
action.  To  substitute  himself  for  an  honest  man  and 
continue,  as  he  must,  the  life  of  an  escaped  galley- 
slave,  was  a  scheme  with  two  lines  so  antagonistic 
that  it  could  scarcely  fail  to  come  to  some  fatal  end, 
in  Paris  especially  ;  for,  by  transplanting  himself  into 
a  family  a  criminal  increased,  tenfold,  the  dangers 
of  detection.  To  protect  himself  from  inquiry  it 
was  necessary  to  go  outside  or  above  the  ordinary 
round  of  life.  A  man  in  society  is  subject  to  certain 
risks  which  never  touch  the  man  who  has  no  contact 
with  it.    For  this  reason  the  cassock  is  the  safest  of 


102 


Lucien  de  Riibemprê. 


all  disguises,  when  it  can  be  carried  out  by  an  exem- 
plary, solitary  life,  devoid  of  action.  "  Therefore,  I 
will  be  a  priest,"  said  this  socially  dead  man,  who 
willed  to  live  again  under  a  social  form  and  satisfy 
passions  for  power  and  for  existence  as  strange  as 
the  being  himself. 

The  civil  war  which  the  constitution  of  1812  pro- 
duced in  Spain,  where  this  resolute  man  betook  himself 
after  his  escape  from  the  galleys,  gave  him  the  means  of 
secretly  killiug  the  real  Carlos  Herrera  on  the  high-road 
from  an  ambush.  This  priest,  who  was  the  bastard  of 
a  grandee,  abandoned  by  his  father  and  ignorant  of  his 
mother,  was  charged  with  a  political  mission  to  France 
by  King  Ferdinand  VII.,  to  whom  a  bishop  had  recom- 
mended him.  The  bishop,  the  sole  man  who  took  an 
interest  in  Carlos  Herrera,  died  during  the  journey 
which  this  forlorn  hope  of  the  Church  was  making  from 
Cadiz  to  Madrid,  and  from  Madrid  to  Paris.  Fortu- 
nate in  meeting  so  desired  an  individual  under  circum- 
stances that  exactly  suited  him,  Jacques  Collin  wounded 
his  own  back  to  efface  the  fatal  letters  of  the  galleys 
and  changed  his  skin  with  acids.  In  thus  transform- 
ing himself  in  presence  of  the  priest's  body  before 
destroying  it,  he  was  able  to  give  himself  a  certain 
likeness  to  his  double  ;  and  to  complete  this  transmuta- 
tion (which  was  nearly  as  marvellous  as  that  in  the 
Arabian  tale  where  the  dervish  acquires  the  power  of 
entering  —  he,  an  old  man  —  into  a  young  body  by  the 
use  of  magic  words)  the  galley-slave,  who  could  speak 
Spanish,  taught  himself  as  much  Latin  as  a  Spanish 
priest  might  be  expected  to  know. 

Collin  had  been  chosen  the  banker  of  the  galleys, 


Lucien  de  Mubemprê. 


103 


and  he  was  rich  with  deposits  confided  to  his  well- 
known  honesty,  —  an  honesty  which  was  also  a  matter 
of  necessity,  for  among  such  partners  an  error  is  bal- 
anced by  a  dagger.  To  these  funds  he  added  the 
money  given  by  the  bishop  to  Carlos  Herrera.  Before 
leaving  Spain  he  was  able  to  lay  hands  on  the  wealth 
of  a  pious  old  lady  in  Barcelona,  to  whom  he  gave 
absolution  on  her  death-bed  and  a  promise  to  restore 
certain  sums  derived  by  her  from  a  crime,  through 
which  her  fortune  came  to  her. 

Having  become  a  priest,  charged  with  a  secret  mis- 
sion which  would  naturally  obtain  for  him  powerful 
supporters  in  Paris,  Jacques  Collin,  firmly  resolving 
to  do  nothing  that  might  compromise  the  character  he 
had  now  assumed,  had  given  himself  up  to  the  chances 
of  his  new  career  at  the  moment  when  he  encountered 
Lucien  on  the  high-road  from  Angoulême  to  Paris. 
The  young  man  seemed  to  the  false  abbé  a  marvellous 
instrument  of  power  placed  unexpectedly  in  his  hand. 
He  saved  the  suicide  from  himself,  saying  :  — 

"  Give  yourself  into  the  hands  of  a  man  of  God  as 
some  men  give  themselves  to  the  devil,  and  you  shall 
have  every  chance  for  a  new  existence.  You  shall 
live  as  in  a  dream,  from  which  the  worst  awaking  can 
be  no  worse  than  the  death  you  are  about  to  seek." 

The  alliance  of  these  two  beings,  who  became  as  it 
were  one,  rested  on  this  argument,  full  of  force,  which 
the  abbé  clinched  still  further  by  slowly  and  saga- 
ciously leading  up  to  complete  collusion.  Gifted  with 
the  genius  of  corruption,  he  destroyed  Lucien's  con- 
science by  plunging  him  into  cruel  difficulties,  from 
which  he  extricated  him  by  obtaining  his  tacit  consent 


104 


Lucien  de  Hubemprê. 


to  wicked  or  infamous  actions,  which,  he  was  careful 
to  show,  left  Lucien  pure  and  loyal  in  the  eyes  of 
others.  Lucien  was  to  be  a  social  splendor,  in  the 
shadow  of  which  the  spurious  abbé  wished  to  live. 

"  I  am  the  author,  you  shall  be  the  drama;  if  you 
do  not  succeed,  it  is  I  who  will  be  hissed,"  he  said  to 
Lucien  the  day  that  he  revealed  to  him  his  sacrilegious 
disguise. 

The  false  priest  went  cautiously  from  avowal  to 
avowal,  measuring  the  infamy  of  his  confidences  by 
Lucien's  needs  and  the  progress  made  in  corrupting 
him.  Trompe-la-Mort  did  not,  however,  make  his  final 
disclosure  until  the  moment  when  the  habit  of  Parisian 
enjoyments,  success,  and  satisfied  vanity  had  enslaved 
both  body  and  soul  of  the  feeble  poet.  Where,  in  the 
olden  time,  Rastignac,  tempted  by  this  devil,  had  re- 
sisted, Lucien  succumbed,  being  better  manoeuvred, 
more  judiciously  compromised,  vanquished,  above  all, 
by  the  happiness  of  having  conquered  an  enviable 
position.  Evil,  which  the  poetic  imagination  calls 
Satan  or  the  Devil,  employed  upon  this  man,  half  a 
woman,  its  most  alluring  seductions,  asking  little  of 
him  at  first,  and  giving  much.  The  great  argument  of 
the  abbé  was  the  same  eternal  secrecy  promised  by 
Tartuffe  to  Elmire.  The  reiterated  proofs  of  an  abso- 
lute devotion,  like  that  of  Said  to  Mohammed,  com- 
pleted the  horrible  work  of  Lucien's  conquest  by 
Jacques  Collin. 

At  the  moment  of  which  we  write,  the  money  spent 
on  Lucien  and  Esther  had  used  up  the  funds  confided 
to  the  honesty  of  the  banker  of  the  galleys,  who  was 
now  exposed  to  a  terrible  settling  of  accounts  ;  and. 


Lucien  de  Hubemjpré. 


105 


more  than  that,  they  had  incurred  heavy  debts.  At 
this  moment,  when  Lucien  was  about  to  attain  com- 
plete success,  the  mere  rolling  of  a  pebble  beneath 
their  feet  might  bring  down  the  illusive  edifice  of  a 
fortune  so  audaciously  built  up.  At  the  masked  ball, 
Rastignac  had  recognized  Vautrin,  the  Vautrin  of  the 
Pension  Vauquer  ;  but  he  knew  he  was  a  dead  man  in 
case  of  indiscretion,  and  the  looks  exchanged  between 
him  and  Lucien  hid  fear  on  both  sides  beneath  a  sem- 
blance of  friendship.  It  was  certain  that  if  a  critical 
moment  came,  Rastignac  would  with  joy  call  up  the 
cart  to  take  Jacques  Collin  to  the  scaffold. 

Every  one  can  now  understand  the  savage  joy  with 
which  the  false  priest  welcomed  the  news  of  Nucingen's 
sudden  passion,  seizing  in  a  single  thought  the  extri- 
cation a  man  of  his  kind  could  derive  by  the  sacrifice 
of  poor  Esther. 

"  No  matter,"  he  said  to  Lucien,  "  the  devil  protects 
his  almoner." 

"  You  are  smoking  on  a  powder-cask." 

"  Incedo  per  ignes  /"  replied  the  false  priest,  laugh- 
ing ;  "  it  is  my  business." 


106 


Lucien  de  Rubemprê. 


VII. 

THE   HÔTEL  DE  GRANDLIEU. 

The  house  of  Grandlieu  became  divided  into  two 
branches  about  the  middle  of  the  last  century.  First, 
the  ducal  house,  now  doomed  to  extinction,  because 
the  present  duke  has  only  daughters  ;  secondly,  the 
Vicomtes  de  Grandlieu,  who  bear  the  title  and  arms 
of  the  elder  branch.  The  ducal  branch  bear  gules, 
three  battle-axes  or,  placed  in  fesse,  with  the  famous 
Caveo  non  Timeo  for  motto,  which  tells  the  whole 
history  of  the  house.  The  arms  of  the  vicomtes  are 
quartered  with  those  of  the  Navarreins,  who  bear 
gules,  a  fesse  crenellated  or,  surmounted  by  a  knight's 
helmet  for  crest,  and  the  motto,  Grands  faits,  Grand 
lieu.  The  present  vicomtesse,  a  widow  since  1813, 
has  a  son  and  one  daughter.  Though  she  returned 
from  the  emigration  half-ruined  as  to  property,  she 
recovered,  thanks  to  the  devotion  of  a  lawyer,  Derville, 
quite  a  handsome  fortune. 

The  Due  and  Duchesse  de  Grandlieu,  who  returned 
in  1804,  were  the  object  of  much  blandishment  on  the 
part  of  the  Emperor.  Napoleon,  who  invited  them  to 
court,  returned  everything  that  could  be  found  belong- 
ing to  the  house  of  Grandlieu  in  the  National  domain, 
amounting  to  a  revenue  of  nearly  forty  thousand  francs 
a  year.  Of  all  the  great  seigneurs  of  the  faubourg 
Saint-Germain  who  allowed  themselves  to  be  cajoled 


Lucien  de  Buhemprê. 


107 


by  Napoleon,  the  duke  and  duchess  (an  Ajuda  of  the 
elder  branch,  allied  to  the  Braganzas)  were  the  only 
ones  who  did  not  repudiate  the  Emperor  or  forget  his 
benefits.  Louis  XVIII.  respected  this  fidelity  when 
the  faubourg  Saint-Germain  considered  it  a  crime  ; 
but  in  so  doing  perhaps  the  King  only  meant  to  annoy 
Monsieur. 

It  was  thought  probable  that  the  young  Vicomte  de 
Grandlieu  would  marry  Marie-Athénaïs,  the  youngest 
daughter  of  the  duke,  now  nine  years  old.  Sabine, 
the  youngest  but  one,  married  the  Baron  de  Guénic 
after  the  revolution  of  July.  Josephine,  the  third, 
became  Madame  d'Ajuda-Pinto  when  the  marquis  lost 
his  first  wife,  Mademoiselle  Rochefide  (alias  Roche- 
gude).  The  eldest  daughter  had  taken  the  veil  in 
1822.  The  second,  Mademoiselle  Clotilde-Frédérique, 
now  twenty-seven  years  of  age,  was  deeply  in  love 
with  Lucien  de  Rubempré.  It  is  unnecessary  to  ask 
if  the  hôtel  de  Grandlieu,  one  of  the  finest  in  the  rue 
Saint-Dominique,  exercised  a  powerful  fascination  over 
Lucien's  mind.  Every  time  the  great  gates  turned  on 
their  hinges  to  admit  his  cabriolet  to  the  court-yard  he 
experienced  the  satisfaction  described  by  Mirabeau  :  — 

"Though  my  father  was  only  an  apothecary  at 
Angoulême,  I  am  here  —  " 

Such  was  his  constant  thought  ;  and  he  would  will- 
ingly have  committed  other  crimes  than  his  alliance 
with  Jacques  Collin  to  keep  the  right  of  walking  up  the 
steps  of  that  portico  and  hearing  his  name  announced 
—  Monsieur  de  Rubempré  !  —  in  the  grand  salon  of 
the  style  of  Louis  XIV.,  built  on  the  model  of  those 
at  Versailles,  where  was  assembled  that  society  of  the 


108 


Lucien  de  Riibemprc. 


élite,  the  cream  of  Paris,  which  went  at  that  time  by 
the  name  of  "  le  petit  chateau."  The  duchess,  one  of 
those  women  who  dislike  leaving  their  own  homes,  was 
generally  surrounded  by  her  neighbors,  the  Chaulieus, 
the  Navarreins,  and  the  Lenoncourts.  Often  the  pretty 
Baronne  de  Macumer  (née  Chaulieu),  the  Duchesse  de 
Maufrigneuse,  Madame  d'Espard,  Madame  de  Camps, 
Mademoiselle  des  Touches  (connected  with  the  Grand- 
lieus  who  come  from  Bretagne),  were  there  for  a  while 
before  going  to  a  ball  or  after  the  opera.  The  Vicomte 
de  Grandlieu,  the  Duc  de  Rhétoré,  the  Prince  de  Bla- 
mont-Chauvry,  the  Marquis  de  Beauséant,  the  Vidame 
de  Pamiers,  the  two  Vandernesses,  the  old  Prince  de 
Cadignan,  and  his  son  the  Duc  cle  Maufrigneuse  were  the 
habitués  of  this  grandiose  salon,  where  the  atmosphere 
was  that  of  a  court,  and  the  manners,  tone,  and  wit  har- 
monized with  the  noble  presence  of  the  masters,  whose 
grand  aristocratic  bearing  caused  their  Napoleonic 
servitude  to  be  forgotten. 

The  old  Duchesse  d'Uxelles,  mother  of  the  Duchesse 
de  Maufrigneuse,  was  the  oracle  of  this  coterie,  where 
Madame  de  Sérizy  had  never  yet  been  able  to  obtain 
admittance,  though  born  a  Ronquerolles.  Lucien, 
brought  there  by  Madame  de  Maufrigneuse,  who  had 
made  her  mother  act  in  the  matter,  maintained  his 
position,  thanks  to  the  influence  of  the  Grand  Almonry 
of  France  and  the  help  of  the  archbishop  of  Paris. 
But  even  so,  he  was  not  presented  until  after  the 
King's  ordinance  had  restored  to  him  the  name  and 
arms  of  the  house  of  Rubempré.  The  Duc  de  Rhétoré, 
the  Chevalier  d'Espard,  and  a  few  others,  jealous  of 
Lucien,  did  their  best  from  time  to  time  to  prejudice 


Lucien  de  Hubemjpré. 


109 


the  Duc  de  Grandlieu  against  him,  by  relating  anec- 
dotes concerning  Lucien's  antecedents  ;  but  the  pious 
duchess,  surrounded  by  the  magnates  of  the  Church, 
and  Clotilde  de  Grandlieu  supported  him.  Lucien 
explained  this  enmity  by  alluding  to  his  affair  with  the 
cousin  of  Madame  d'Espard,  Madame  de  Bargeton, 
now  Comtesse  du  Châtelet.  Then,  feeling  the  neces- 
sity of  being  admitted  on  terms  of  intimacy  by  so 
powerful  a  family,  and  prompted  by  his  desire  to  win 
Clotilde,  Lucien  had  the  courage  of  parvenus;  he  called 
there  five  days  out  of  seven  every  week  ;  he  swallowed 
all  indignities  with  a  good  grace,  bore  with  impertinent 
glances,  and  answered  slighting  speeches  with  ready  wit. 
His  assiduity,  the  charm  of  his  manners,  and  his  appar- 
ent good-humor  ended  by  neutralizing  objections  and 
lessening  obstacles.  Received  by  the  Duchesse  de 
Maufrigneuse,  Madame  de  Sérizy,  and  Mademoiselle 
des  Touches,  Lucien,  satisfied  with  admission  to  four 
such  houses,  learned  from  the  abbé  to  put  the  greatest 
reserve  and  discretion  into  all  his  relations  with  them. 

"  No  one  can  devote  himself  to  many  houses  at  a 
time,"  said  his  private  counsellor.  "  He  who  goes 
everywhere,  never  excites  a  real  interest  anywhere. 
Great  people  only  protect  those  who  frequent  them, 
those  they  see  every  day  ;  individuals  who  manage  to 
make  themselves  necessary  to  them,  like  the  sofas  on 
which  they  sit." 

Accustomed  to  consider  the  salon  of  the  Grandlieus 
as  his  battlefield,  Lucien  reserved  his  wit,  his  clever 
sayings,  and  the  courtier  graces  which  characterized 
him  for  the  hours  that  he  spent  there.  Insinuating, 
caressing,  and  warned  by  Clotilde  of  the  rocks  around 


110 


Lucien  de  Rubempré. 


him,  he  flattered  the  little  foibles  of  the  Duc  de  Grand- 
lieu.  Clotilde,  who  began  by  being  jealous  of  Madame 
de  Maufrigneuse,  was  now  desperately  in  love  with 
Lucien.  Knowing  well  the  advantages  of  such  a  mar- 
riage, Lucien  played  his  rôle  as  a  lover  with  all  the 
charm  of  Armand,  the  new  jeune  premier  of  the  Com- 
édie-Française. He  went  to  mass  every  Sunday  at 
Saint-Thomas  d'Aquin  ;  he  appeared  in  the  character 
of  an  ardent  Catholic  ;  he  delivered  himself  of  religious 
and  monarchical  precepts  which  did  marvels  for  him. 
Moreover,  he  wrote  quite  remarkable  articles  in  the 
journals  devoted  to  the  Congregation  without  being 
willing  to  take  money  for  them,  or  to  put  any  signa- 
ture but  L.  He  also  wrote  political  pamphlets  required 
by  the  King  or  the  Grand  Almonry  without  asking  the 
slightest  recompense. 

"The  King,"  he  said,  "has  already  done  so  much 
for  me  that  I  owe  him  my  very  blood." 

So,  within  a  few  days,  it  had  been  proposed  to  ap- 
point Lucien  as  private  secretary  to  the  prime-minister  ; 
but  Madame  d'Espard  hearing  of  this,  put  so  many  per- 
sons at  work  against  Lucien  that  the  Maître  Jacques 
of  Charles  X.  hesitated  to  take  the  step.  Not  only 
was  Lucien's  position  scarcely  defined  enough  as  yet, 
but  the  question  "  What  does  he  live  on?  "  which  came 
more  and  more  to  the  surface  as  he  raised  himself  in 
society,  demanded  an  answer  ;  and  benevolent  curiosity 
as  well  as  malicious  curiosity,  beginning  to  investigate, 
found  more  than  one  flaw  in  his  armor.  Clotilde  de 
Grandlieu  served  her  father  and  mother  as  an  innocent 
spy.  A  few  days  earlier  she  had  taken  Lucien  aside 
into  the  recess  of  a  window,  and  had  there  told  him  of 
the  family  objections. 


Lucien  de  Buhempré. 


111 


"  Obtain  an  estate  worth  a  million  and  you  may  have 
my  hand  ;  that  is  my  mother's  answer,"  said  Clotilde. 

''They'll  ask  you  later  where  the  money  comes 
from,"  said  the  abbé,  when  Lucien  reported  to  him 
Clotilde' s  speech. 

"  My  brother-in-law,  David  Séchard,  must  have  made 
his  fortune  by  this  time,"  said  Lucien.  "I'll  take 
him  for  my  responsible  editor." 

"  Then  nothing  is  wanting  to  your  triumph  but 
that  million,"  the  abbé  cried.  "  I  must  think  about 
getting  it." 

To  explain  Lucien's  exact  position  at  the  hôtel  de 
Grandlieu,  it  must  be  told  that  he  had  never  dined 
there.  Neither  Clotilde  nor  the  Duchesse  d'Uxelles, 
nor  Madame  de  Maufrigneuse,  who  always  continued 
a  good  friend  to  Lucien,  could  persuade  the  old  duke 
to  grant  them  that  favor,  for  he  persisted  in  distrust- 
ing the  man  whom  he  called  the  "  Sieur  de  Rubempré." 
This  cloud,  noticed  by  all  who  frequented  the  salon, 
was  sharply  wounding  to  Lucien's  self-love  ;  he  felt 
he  was  only  tolerated  there  after  all.  The  world  is 
right  to  be  exacting,  for  it  is  often  deceived.  To  cut 
a  figure  in  Paris  without  known  means,  without  an 
acknowledged  profession,  is  a  position  which  no  schem- 
ing can  long  maintain.  Therefore  Lucien,  in  raising 
himself  socially  gave  additional  strength  to  the  objec- 
tion, "  What  does  he  live  on?"  He  had  been  forced 
into  saying  at  the  house  of  Madame  de  Sérizy,  —  to 
whom  he  owed  the  support  of  the  attorney-general 
Granville,  and  of  a  minister  of  State,  Comte  Octave 
de  Bauvan,  —  "lam  dreadfully  in  debt." 

As  he  now  entered  the  court-yard  of  the  hôtel  where 


112 


Lucien  de  Rubemprê. 


lay  the  hope  and  triumph  of  all  his  vanities,  he  said  to 
himself,  bitterly,  thinking  of  Trompe-la-Mort's  words, 
u 1  hear  the  whole  thing  cracking  under  my  feet." 

He  loved  Esther,  but  he  wanted  Mademoiselle  de 
Grandlieu  for  his  wife.  Strange  situation, — he  must 
sell  one  to  obtain  the  other  !  Only  one  man  could 
make  that  traffic  without  his  own  honor  suffering  ;  that 
man  was  Jacques  Collin.  Ought  they  not,  therefore, 
to  be  as  cautious  and  silent  one  toward  the  other  as 
one  for  the  other? 

Life  does  not  offer  two  compacts  of  this  nature  in 
which  a  man  is  alternately  the  master  and  the  slave. 
Reaching  the  hôtel  de  Grandlieu,  Lucien  shook  off  the 
clouds  that  darkened  his  brow,  and  entered  the  salon 
gay  and  radiant. 

At  this  moment  the  windows  were  open,  the  fra- 
grance from  the  garden  perfumed  the  room,  the  plant- 
stand,  which  occupied  the  centre  of  it,  was  a  pyramid 
of  bloom.  The  duchess,  seated  on  a  sofa  in  a  corner, 
was  talking  with  the  Duchesse  de  Chaulieu.  Several 
women  made  a  group  around  her,  remarkable  for  divers 
attitudes  conveying  the  expressions  which  each  gave 
to  simulated  grief.  In  society  no  one  is  really  inter- 
ested in  misfortunes  or  suffering  ;  sentiments  are  mere 
words.  The  men  were  walking  about  the  salon  or  in 
the  garden.  Clotilde  and  Josephine  were  sitting  at 
the  tea-table.  The  Vidame  de  Pamiers,  the  Duc  de 
Grandlieu,  the  Marquis  d'Ajuda-Pinto,  and  the  Duc  de 
Maufrigneuse  were  playing  wish  (sic)  in  a  corner. 

When  Lucien  was  announced,  he  crossed  the  salon 
and  bowed  to  the  duchess,  asking  her  the  cause  of  the 
affliction  expressed  upon  her  face. 


Lucien  de  Bubempré. 


113 


rf  Madame  de  Chaulieu  has  received  some  dreadful 
news.  Her  son-in-law,  the  Baron  de  Macumer,  ex- 
Duc  de  Soria,  has  just  died.  The  young  Duc  de  Soria 
and  his  wife,  who  had  gone  to  Chantepleurs  to  be  with 
him,  have  written  the  sad  news.  Louise  is  in  a  heart- 
rending state." 

"  A  woman  is  not  loved  twice  in  her  life  as  Louise 
was  by  him,"  said  Madeline  de  Mortsauf. 

"  She  will  be  a  rich  widow,"  remarked  the  old 
Duchesse  d'Uxelles,  with  a  glance  at  Lucien,  whose 
face  continued  impassible. 

"  Poor  Louise  !  "  exclaimed  Madame  d'Espard.  "  I 
understand  her,  and  I  pity  her." 

The  Marquise  d'Espard,  as  she  said  these  words, 
had  the  thoughtful  look  of  a  woman  full  of  heart  and 
soul.  Though  Sabine  de  G-randlieu  was  only  ten  years 
old,  she  looked  at  her  mother  with  an  intelligent  eye, 
the  almost  mocking  expression  of  which  was  reproved 
by  a  glance  from  the  duchess.  This  is  what  is  called 
"  bringing  up  your  children  well." 

"If  my  daughter  survives  this  blow,"  said  Madame 
de  Chaulieu,  with  a  most  maternal  air,  '  '  her  future  will 
make  me  very  uneasy.    Louise  is  too  romantic." 

"I  am  sure  I  don't  know,"  said  the  Duchesse 
d'Uxelles,  "  from  whom  our  daughters  get  that 
characteristic." 

44  It  is  difficult  in  these  days,"  said  an  old  cardinal, 
"  to  make  the  demands  of  the  heart  and  the  conven- 
tions of  society  agree." 

Lucien,  who  had  nothing  to  say  on  this  topic,  went 
to  the  tea-table  to  pay  his  respects  to  the  Demoiselles 
de  Grandlieu.    When  the  poet  was  at  sufficient  dis* 

8 


114 


Lucien  de  Rubemjprê. 


tance  from  the  group  of  women,  the  Marquise  d'Es- 
pard  leaned  forward  to  the  ear  of  the  Duchesse  de 
Grandlieu. 

"  Then  you  really  think  that  man  is  very  much  in 
love  with  your  dear  Clotilde  ?  "  she  said. 

The  perfidy  of  this  question  can  only  be  understood 
after  reading  a  sketch  of  Clotilde.  This  young  lady, 
about  twenty-seven  years  of  age,  was  then  standing 
up  ;  an  attitude  which  allowed  the  sarcastic  glance 
of  the  Marquise  d'Espard  to  observe  the  whole  of 
her  lank,  lean  form,  which  somewhat  resembled  that 
of  asparagus.  Her  bust  was  so  flat  that  it  did  not 
allow  of  those  colonial  resources  which  dressmakers 
call  fichus  menteurs.  In  fact  Clotilde,  who  knew  the  all- 
sufficing  advantages  of  her  name  and  rank,  so  far  from 
being  at  the  pains  to  disguise  this  defect,  heroically 
allowed  it  to  be  fully  perceptible.  By  wearing  her 
gowns  made  tight  and  plain,  she  conveyed  the  effect 
of  those  stiff,  rigid  forms  which  the  sculptors  of  the 
middle-ages  placed  in  the  niches  of  the  cathedrals. 
Clotilde  was  four  feet  five  inches  in  height.  If  it  is 
permissible  to  make  use  of  a  familiar  expression, 
which  has  the  merit  of  being  easily  understood,  she 
was  all  legs.  This  fault  of  proportion  gave  the  upper 
part  of  her  body  the  effect  of  being  slightly  deformed. 
A  brunette  in  complexion,  with  wiry  black  hair,  very 
thick  eyebrows,  ardent  eyes  revolving  in  orbits  that 
were  already  charring,  the  face  arched  at  the  top  of 
the  prominent  forehead  like  the  moon  in  its  first  quar- 
ter, she  presented  a  curious  caricature  of  her  mother, 
who  had  been  one  of  the  handsomest  women  in  Por- 
tugal.   Nature  seems  to  take  delight  in  such  freaks. 


Lucien  de  Rubemprê. 


115 


We  often  see  in  families  a  sister  of  surprising  beauty, 
while  the  same  cast  of  feature  in  a  brother  will  be 
absolute  ugliness,  although  they  may  strongly  resemble 
each  other.  Clotilde's  mouth,  which  was  very  much 
drawn  in,  had  a  stereotyped  expression  of  disdain. 
Her  lips  betrayed,  more  than  any  other  feature  of  her 
face,  the  secret  movements  of  her  heart  ;  affection 
gave  them  at  times  a  delightful  expression,  all  the 
more  remarkable  because  her  cheeks,  too  brown  to 
blush,  and  her  black,  hard  eyes  said  nothing.  In 
spite  of  all  these  disadvantages,  in  spite  of  her  plank- 
like rigidity,  she  derived  from  her  race  and  her  educa- 
tion an  air  of  grandeur,  a  lofty  countenance,  and  the 
nameless  something,  well-called  the  je  ne  sais  quoi 
(due,  perhaps,  to  the  frankness  of  her  gown),  which 
marked  her  as  the  daughter  of  a  noble  house.  She 
made  the  most  of  her  hair,  which  in  length  and  vigor 
might  have  been  called  a  beauty.  Her  voice,  which 
she  had  cultivated,  was  charming,  and  she  sang 
delightfully. 

"Why  shouldn't  he  be  in  love  with  my  poor  Clo- 
tilde?  "  replied  the  duchess.  "  Do  you  know  what  she 
said  yesterday?  'If  I  am  loved  for  ambition,  I  will 
take  care  that  I  am  loved  for  myself  as  well.'  She  is 
witty  and  ambitious  ;  there  are  many  men  to  whom 
those  qualities  are  pleasing.  As  for  that  young  man, 
my  dear,  he  is  as  beautiful  as  a  dream  ;  and  if  he  can 
buy  back  the  Rubemprê  estate,  the  King  will  restore 
to  him,  for  our  sakes,  the  title  of  marquis.  After  all, 
his  mother  was  the  last  Rubemprê." 

'  '  Poor  fellow,  where  will  he  get  the  million  ?  "  said 
the  marquise. 


116 


Lucien  de  Rubemprê. 


"That's  not  our  affair,"  returned  the  duchess, 
laughing;  "but  he  certainly  will  not  steal  it.  You 
may  be  sure  we  shall  not  give  Clotilde  to  an  adven- 
turer, or  a  dishonest  man,  were  he  as  beautiful,  poet- 
ical, and  charming  as  Monsieur  de  Rubempré." 

"  You  are  late,"  said  Clotilde,  smiling  at  Lucien 
with  infinite  grace. 

"  Yes,  I  dined  out." 

"  You  go  a  great  deal  into  society  of  late,"  she  said, 
concealing  her  jealousy  and  her  anxiety  beneath  a 
smile. 

"  Society!"  exclaimed  Lucien.  "  No,  I  have  only 
by  mere  chance  dined  all  the  week  with  bankers  ;  to-day 
with  Nucingen,  yesterday  with  du  Tillet,  the  day 
before  with  the  Hellers." 

Observe  that  Lucien  had  learned  to  take  the  super- 
cilious tone  of  grands  seigneurs. 

"  You  have  many  enemies,'7  said  Clotilde,  offering 
him  a  cup  of  tea.  "  Some  one  has  told  my  father  that 
you  have  sixty  thousand  francs  of  debt,  and  that  be- 
fore long  you  will  be  in  Sainte-Pélagie.  If  you  knew 
what  these  calumnies  cost  me  !  The  blame  all  falls  on 
me.  I  will  not  speak  to  you  of  what  I  suffer  (my 
father  gives  me  looks  which  torture  me),  but  of  what 
you  must  suffer  if  there  is  any  truth  at  all  in  such  a 
rumor." 

"  Don't  trouble  yourself  about  such  nonsense  ;  love 
me  as  I  love  you,  and  trust  me  for  a  few  weeks  longer," 
said  Lucien,  setting  down  his  empty  cup  on  the  silver 
salver. 

"  Pray  do  not  speak  to  my  father  to-night,  or  he 
may  answer  you  with  some  impertinence  which  you 


Lucien  de  Rubemprê. 


117 


will  be  unable  to  bear,  and  then  we  are  lost.  That 
malicious  Marquise  d'Espard  told  him  that  your  mother 
nursed  women  in  childbirth  and  that  your  sister  was  a 
washerwoman." 

"We  were  in  the  deepest  poverty,"  replied  Lucien, 
the  tears  rushing  to  his  eyes.  "  That  was  not  calumny, 
only  ill-natured  gossip.  To-day  my  sister  is  more  than 
a  millionnaire  ;  my  mother  died  two  years  ago.  Spite- 
ful persons  have  withheld  this  information  until  I  was 
on  the  point  of  succeeding  here." 

"  But  what  have  you  done  to  Madame  d'Espard?  " 

14 1  had  the  imprudence  to  relate  at  Madame  de 
Sérizy's,  before  Monsieur  de  Granville,  the  story  of 
the  suit  she  brought  against  her  husband  to  obtain  the 
injunction,  the  facts  of  which  had  been  confided  to 
me  by  Bianchon.  Monsieur  de  Granville's  opinion 
changed  that  of  the  Keeper  of  the  Seals.  They  both 
drew  back,  fearing  the  4  Gazette  des  Tribunaux  '  and 
the  scandal,  and  the  marquise  was  rapped  over  the 
knuckles  in  the  verdict  which  put  an  end  to  that  dread- 
ful business.  Though  Monsieur  de  Sérizy  committed 
an  indiscretion  which  made  the  marquise  my  mortal 
enemy,  I,  at  any  rate,  gained  his  protection,  and  that 
of  the  attorney-general,  and  also  that  of  Comte  Octave 
de  Bauvan,  to  whom  Madame  de  Sérizy  told  the  peril  in 
which  they  had  put  me  by  revealing  the  source  of  their 
information.  Monsieur  le  Marquis  d'Espard  had  the 
want  of  tact  to  pay  me  a  visit  of  acknowledgment,  as 
the  cause  of  his  triumph  in  that  infamous  suit." 

"  I  will  deliver  you  from  Madame  d'Espard,"  said 
Clotilde. 

'  '  Ah  !  and  how  ?  "  cried  Lucien. 


118 


Lucien  de  Ruhemprê. 


"My  mother  shall  invite  the  little  d'Espards  here; 
they  are  charming  and  nearly  grown  up.  The  father 
and  the  sons  will  sing  your  praises,  and  then  we  are 
certain  not  to  see  the  mother." 

"Oh!  Clotilcle,  you  are  adorable,  and  if  I  did  not 
love  you  for  yourself,  I  should  love  you  for  your  wit 
and  sense." 

"  It  is  neither  wit  nor  sense,"  she  said,  putting  all 
her  love  upon  her  lips.  "Adieu;  don't  return  here 
for  several  days.  When  you  see  me  at  Saint-Thomas 
d'Aquin  wearing  a  pink  scarf  you  will  know  that  my 
father  has  changed  his  tone." 

The  young  lady  seemed  from  this  speech  to  be  more 
than  twenty-seven  years  of  age. 

Lucien  took  a  hackney-coach  at  the  rue  de  la  Planche, 
left  it  on  the  boulevards,  took  another  near  the  Made- 
leine and  told  the  man  to  drive  into  the  court-yard  in 
the  rue  Taitbout.  He  entered  Esther's  room  at  eleven 
o'clock  and  found  her  in  tears,  but  dressed  as  if  she 
wished  to  make  a  festival  of  his  coming.  When  the 
door  opened,  she  wiped  away  her  tears  and  sprang 
forward  to  Lucien,  wrapping  her  arms  about  him  as  a 
silken  tissue  caught  up  by  the  wind  winds  itself  round 
a  tree. 

"  Parted  !  "  she  cried.    "  Is  it  true  ?  " 

"  Pooh  !  only  for  a  few  days,"  replied  Lucien. 

Esther  released  him  from  her  arms  and  fell  back 
upon  the  sofa  as  if  dead.  She  said  not  a  word  ;  she 
lay  with  her  face  pressed  into  the  cushions,  weeping 
hot  tears.    Lucien  tried  to  raise  and  soothe  her. 

"  My  child,  we  are  not  separated.  What  !  after  five 
years  of  happiness  is  this  how  you  take  a  little  absence  ? 


Lucien  de  Rubemprê. 


119 


Ah!  "thought  he,  remembering  Coralie  ;  "how  is  it 
that  these  women  love  me  so  ?  " 

The  senses  have  their  beau  idéal.  When  to  so  much 
beauty  is  added  sweetness  of  nature  and  the  poetic 
charm  which  distinguished  Lucien,  we  can  conceive  the 
fond  passion  of  these  poor  women,  so  sensitive  to  ex- 
ternal natural  gifts  and  so  naïve  in  their  admiration. 

Esther  sobbed  gently,  and  lay  without  moving  in  an 
attitude  of  the  deepest  sorrow. 

"  But,  my  child,"  said  Lucien,  "  did  he  not  tell  you 
that  it  concerns  my  very  life  ?  " 

At  these  words,  said  intentionally  by  Lucien,  Esther 
sprang  up,  like  some  wild  animal  ;  her  hair,  which  had 
fallen  loose,  surrounded  her  beautiful  face  like  foliage. 
She  looked  at  Lucien  with  a  fixed  eye. 

"  Your  life  !  "  she  cried,  raising  her  arms  and  letting 
them  fall  again,  with  a  gesture  which  belongs  only  to  a 
woman  in  danger.    "True  ;  that  savage  wrote  it." 

She  drew  a  paper  from  her  belt. 

"  See,"  she  said,  "  this  is  what  he  wrote,"  giving 
Lucien  a  letter  which  the  abbé  had  sent  to  her.  Lucien 
read  it  aloud  :  — 

"  You  will  leave  Paris  to-morrow,  at  five  in  the  morning. 
A  carriage  will  be  sent  to  take  you  to  a  house  in  the  forest 
of  Saint-Germain.  There  you  will  have  an  apartment  on 
the  first  floor.  Do  not  leave  it  until  I  permit  you.  You  will 
want  for  nothing.  The  keeper  of  the  house  and  his  wife  are 
trustworthy.  Do  not  write  to  Lucien.  Keep  the  carriage 
blinds  down  as  you  drive  there.  This  matter  concerns 
Lucien's  life. 

"  Lucien  will  see  you  to-night  to  say  farewell  ;  burn  this 
letter  in  his  presence." 


120 


Lucien  de  Ruhempré. 


Lucien  instantly  burned  the  letter  at  the  flame  of  a 
candle. 

"  Hear  me,  my  Lucien,"  said  Esther,  having  listened 
to  the  reading  of  the  note  as  a  criminal  listens  to  his 
sentence  of  death.  "  I  will  not  tell  you  that  I  love 
you  ;  it  would  be  silly  to  do  so.  It  is  now  five  years  that 
to  love  you  has  seemed  to  me  as  natural  as  to  breathe, 
or  live.  Since  that  first  day  when  my  happiness  began, 
under  the  protection  of  that  inexplicable  being  who  put 
me  here  like  some  curious  little  animal  in  a  cage,  I 
knew  that  you  would  marry.  Marriage  is  necessary 
to  your  destiny,  and  God  keep  me  from  hindering  the 
development  of  your  career.  This  marriage  is  death 
to  me  ;  but  I  will  not  harass  you  ;  I  shall  not  do  as  the 
grisettes,  who  smother  themselves  with  pans  of  char- 
coal, —  once  was  enough  for  that.  No,  I  shall  go  far 
away,  out  of  France.  I  only  ask  one  thing,  my  angel, 
my  adored  ;  it  is  that  you  will  not  deceive  me.  I  have 
had  my  share  of  life  ;  since  the  day  I  first  saw  you  in 
1824  until  to-day,  I  have  had  more  happiness  than 
there  is  in  ten  lives  of  other  happy  women.  There- 
fore, judge  me  for  what  I  am,  —  a  woman  both  strong 
and  weak.  Say  to  me,  4 1  am  to  marry  ;  '  I  will  ask 
you  only  for  a  tender,  a  very  tender  farewell,  and  you 
shall  never  hear  of  me  again." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence  after  these  words, 
the  sincerity  of  which  was  deepened  by  tones  and 
gesture. 

"Does  it  concern  your  marriage?"  she  asked, 
plunging  her  compelling  eyes,  brilliant  as  the  blade 
of  a  dagger,  into  the  brilliant  eyes  of  the  man  before 
her. 


Lucien  de  Rubemprê. 


121 


"  For  the  last  eighteen  months  we  have  certainly 
been  working  for  my  marriage,  but  it  is  not  arranged," 
replied  Lucien,  "  and  I  do  not  know  when  it  will  be. 
But  that  is  not  the  present  matter,  my  dear  child,  which 
concerns  the  abbé  and  me  and  you.  We  are  threatened 
with  a  great  danger,  —  Nucingen  has  seen  you." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  she  said,  —  "at  Vincennes.  Did 
he  recognize  me?" 

"No,"  said  Lucien,  "but  he  has  fallen  frantically 
in  love  with  you.  After  dinner,  when  he  described 
you,  I  let  a  smile  escape  me,  —  an  involuntary  and 
most  imprudent  smile  ;  for  I  live  in  the  midst  of  social 
life  like  a  savage,  perpetually  in  fear  of  the  traps  of 
enemies.  The  abbé,  who  takes  the  burden  of  thinking 
from  me,  considers  the  situation  dangerous  ;  he  takes 
upon  himself  to  baffle  Nucingen  if  Nucingen  attempts 
to  spy  upon  us  ;  and  the  baron  is  quite  capable  of 
that.  He  said  something  to-night  about  the  stupidity 
of  the  police.  You  have  set  on  fire  a  chimney  full  of 
soot." 

"  What  does  the  abbé  mean  to  do?"  asked  Esther, 
very  gently. 

"  I  don't  know  ;  he  told  me  to  keep  quiet,  and  see 
nothing  of  Esther." 

"  If  that  is  so,  T  obey  with  the  submission  that  is 
my  pride,"  she  said,  passing  her  arm  through  that  of 
Lucien  and  leading  him  to  her  room.  "  Did  you 
have  a  good  dinner,  my  Lulu,  with  your  infamous 
Nucingen?  " 

"Asia's  cooking  prevents  one  from  thinking  any 
dinner  good,  however  famous  the  cook  may  be  ;  but 
Carême  sent  up  the  usual  Sunday  dinner." 


122 


Lucien  de  Eubempré. 


Lucien  involuntarily  compared  Esther  with  Clotilde. 
The  first  was  so  beautiful,  so  constantly  charming, 
that  the  monster  of  satiety  had  never  once  approached 
him. 

44  What  a  pity,"  he  said  to  himself,  44  to  be  forced  to 
have  one's  wife  in  two  volumes  !  Here,  poetry,  pleas- 
ure, love,  devotion,  beauty,  charm  ;  there,  noble  blood, 
race,  honors,  rank,  and  knowledge  of  the  world.  And 
no  way  of  uniting  them  in  a  single  person  !  " 

The  next  day  when  he  woke,  at  seven  in  the  morn- 
ing, in  that  charming  room,  all  white  and  rose,  the 
poet  was  alone.    When  he  rang,  Europe  came  in. 

44  Where  is  your  mistress?" 

44  Madame  left  the  house  at  a  quarter  to  five,  ac- 
cording to  the  orders  of  Monsieur  l'abbé,  who  sent  a 
carriage." 


Lucien  de  Rubernprê. 


123 


VIE 

FALSE  NOTES,   FALSE  DEBTS,  AND  A  CRAVEN  HEART. 

The  day  after  Esther  was  removed  to  Saint-Germain, 
the  terrible  and  inexplicable  man,  who  weighed  upon 
her  heart  and  ruled  her  fate,  came  to  her  with  three 
stamped  papers,  which  he  requested  her  to  sign,  bear- 
ing the  words,  on  the  first,  "  Accepted  for  sixty  thou- 
sand francs;"  on  the  second,  "Accepted  for  one 
hundred  and  twenty  thousand  francs  ;  "  on  the  third, 
"  Accepted  for  one  hundred  and  twenty  thousand 
francs."  In  all,  three  hundred  thousand  francs.  When 
the  words  "good  for"  are  used,  a  simple  note  is 
drawn;  but  the  word  "accepted"  constitutes  a  bill 
of  exchange,  which,  if  unmet,  subjects  the  drawer  to 
arrest.  That  single  word  makes  a  person  who  igno- 
rantly  or  imprudently  signs  it  liable  to  five  years' 
imprisonment, —  a  penalty  seldom  inflicted  in  the  cor- 
rectional police  courts,  and  which  the  court  of  assizes 
only  inflicts  on  criminals.  The  law  as  to  imprison- 
ment for  debt  is  a  relic  of  barbarism,  which  adds  to 
its  stupidity  the  merit  of  being  useless,  for  it  never 
touches  real  swindlers. 

"  The  object  is,"  said  the  former  galley-slave,  "  to 
extricate  Lucien  from  his  embarrassments.  We  have 
sixty  thousand  francs  of  debt  hanging  over  us  ;  but 
with  these  three  hundred  thousand  francs  he  can  clear 
himself  and  start  again." 


124 


Lucien  de  Rubemprê. 


After  antedating  the  bills  of  exchange  by  six  months, 
the  abbé  made  them  drawn  on  Esther  by  a  man  who 
never  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  police  of  Paris,  and 
whose  adventures,  in  spite  of  the  noise  they  made, 
were  speedily  forgotten,  lost,  and  covered  up  by  the 
racket  of  the  great  symphony  of  July,  1830. 

This  young  man,  one  of  the  most  audacious  swin- 
dlers who  ever  lived,  the  son  of  a  clerk  at  Boulogne, 
near  Paris,  was  named  Georges-Marie  Destourny.  The 
father,  obliged  to  sell  his  clerkship  for  very  little, 
died  about  1824,  and  left  his  son  without  resources, 
after  giving  him  that  brilliant  education  for  the  world 
which  the  folly  of  the  lesser  bourgeoisie  covets  for 
their  sons.  At  twenty-three,  the  young  and  brilliant 
pupil  at  the  law-school  had  repudiated  his  father  by 
printing  his  name  on  his  cards  as  "  Georges  d'Es- 
tourny." This  card  gave  him  a  fragrance  of  aristoc- 
racy. He  became  a  frequenter  of  clubs,  and  acquired 
a  groom  and  a  tilbury.  One  word  will  explain  all.  He 
gambled  at  the  Bourse  with  the  money  entrusted  to 
him  by  courtesans,  whose  agent  he  was.  He  was 
finally  in  danger  from  the  correctional  police,  and, 
when  obliged  to  fly,  neglected  to  pay  up  his  "  differ- 
ences" at  the  Bourse.  He  had  accomplices,  —  young 
men  corrupted  by  him,  his  henchmen,  and  the  sharers 
of  his  elegance  and  credit.  When  he  fled,  the  Paris  of 
the  boulevards  trembled.  In  the  days  of  his  splendor, 
Georges  d'Estourny,  handsome,  good-natured,  and 
generous  as  a  robber-chief,  had  protected  La  Torpille 
for  several  months.  The  abbé  based  his  speculation 
on  this  acquaintance. 

Georges  d'Estourny,  whose  ambition  was  emboldened 


Lucien  de  Hubemjpré. 


125 


by  success,  had  taken  under  his  protection  a  man  from 
the  departments  whom  the  liberal  party  wished  to  in- 
demnify for  an  imprisonment  bravely,  it  was  said, 
incurred  in  the  struggle  of  the  press  against  the  gov- 
ernment of  Charles  X.  The  Sieur  Cérizet,  called  the 
"courageous  Cérizet,"  was  pardoned.  Now  Cérizet, 
patronized  for  form's  sake  by  the  magnates  of  the  Left, 
had  opened  a  sort  of  agency,  which  combined  bank- 
ing, brokerage,  and  a  commission  business.  Cérizet 
was  very  glad  at  that  time  to  ally  himself  with  Georges 
d'Estourny,  who  trained  him.  Esther,  in  virtue  of  the 
old  story  of  Ninon,  might  very  well  be  supposed  to  be 
the  depositary  of  a  part  of  d'Estourny's  fortune.  An 
endorsement  by  Georges  d'Estourny  made  the  abbé  mas- 
ter of  the  notes  he  had  created.  The  forgery  was  no 
risk  if  Esther,  or  some  one  on  her  behalf,  paid  the  notes. 

After  obtaining  full  information  as  to  Cérizet's  busi- 
ness, Jacques  Collin  perceived  that  he  was  one  of  those 
obscure  individuals  who  are  determined  to  make  their 
fortunes,  but —  legally.  Cérizet,  who  was  the  real 
depositary  of  d'Estourny's  gains,  held  for  him  as  locum 
tenens  certain  important  securities  which  were  waiting 
for  a  rise  at  the  Bourse,  and  which  enabled  Cérizet  to 
call  himself  a  banker.  Such  things  are  done  every  day 
in  Paris.  The  man  may  be  despised,  but  not  his 
money.  Jacques  Collin  now  went  to  see  Cérizet,  in- 
tending to  make  use  of  him  after  his  fashion  ;  for  he 
was,  by  a  lucky  chance,  master  of  the  secrets  of  this 
worthy  associate  of  d'Estourny.  The  courageous 
Cérizet  lived  in  an  entresol  in  the  rue  du  Gros-Chenet, 
and  the  abbé,  having  ordered  the  servant  to  announce 
him  as  coming  from  Monsieur  d'Estourny,  found  the 


126 


Lucien  de  Rubemjpré. 


so-called  banker  quite  pale  with  fear  at  this  announce- 
ment, and  recognized  at  a  glance,  from  the  description 
given  him  by  Lucien,  the  Judas  of  David  Séchard. 

4 4  Can  we  talk  here  without  danger  of  being  over- 
heard?" said  the  abbé,  transformed,  however,  iuto  an 
Englishman  with  red  hair,  blue  spectacles,  and  as  clean 
and  neat  as  a  puritan  going  to  meeting. 

44  Why  so,  monsieur?"  asked  Cérizet.  44  Who  are 
you?" 

44  Mr.  William  Barker,  creditor  of  Monsieur  d'Es- 
tourny.  But  I  '11  show  you  the  necessity  of  closing 
the  door  if  you  desire  it.  We  know,  monsieur,  what 
were  your  relations  with  Petit-Claud,  the  Cointets,  and 
the  Séchards  at  Angoulême." 

At  these  words  Cérizet  jumped  to  the  door  and  closed 
it,  after  which  he  went  to  the  door  of  an  inner  room  and 
bolted  that.  Then  he  said  to  the  stranger:  44  Speak 
low,  monsieur,"  adding,  as  he  examined  the  false 
Englishman,  44  What  do  you  want  with  me?" 

44  Well,"  said  William  Barker,  44  every  man  for  him- 
self in  this  world.  You  have  the  securities  of  that 
rascal  d'Estourny  in  your  hands  —  Oh  !  don't  be 
afraid,  I  have  not  come  to  ask  for  them  ;  but,  pressed 
by  me,  that  swindler,  who,  between  ourselves,  deserves 
the  halter,  has  given  me  these  notes  which  he  thinks  I 
may  be  able  to  get  paid;  and  as  I  don't  want  to  sue 
the  person  in  my  own  name,  he  told  me  that  you  would 
let  me  use  yours." 

Cérizet  looked  at  the  letters  of  exchange. 

44  But  he 's  no  longer  at  Frankfort,"  he  said. 

44 1  know  that,"  said  Barker,  44  but  he  might  have 
been  at  the  date  of  these  notes." 


Lucien  de  Rubemprê, 


127 


"  I  don't  want  to  make  myself  responsible,"  said 
Cérizet. 

"  I  don't  ask  for  any  such  sacrifice  ;  but  you  can  be 
empowered  to  receive  them.  Receipt  for  them,  and  I 
will  see  that  they  are  paid." 

"I  am  surprised  that  d'Estourny  should  show  so 
little  confidence  in  me,"  remarked  Cérizet. 

44  He  knows  a  good  deal,"  said  the  Englishman, 
significantly.  "  I  don't  blame  him  for  not  wishing  to 
put  all  his  eggs  in  one  basket." 

44  Do  you  think  —  "  began  the  little  peddler  in 
business,  returning  the  letters  of  exchange  duly  ac- 
knowledged and  signed. 

44  I  think  that  you  take  good  care  of  his  funds,"  said 
the  Englishman.  u  In  fact  I  am  sure  of  it;  they  are 
already  staked  on  the  green  table  of  the  Bourse." 

'  '  My  interest  is  —  " 

44  To  lose  them,  ostensibly,"  said  William  Barker. 
44  Monsieur  !  "  cried  Cérizet. 

"  Look  here,  my  dear  Monsieur  Cérizet,"  said 
Barker,  coolly,  interrupting  the  little  man,  64  you  can 
do  me  a  service  by  facilitating  this  payment.  Have 
the  kindness  to  write  me  a  letter  in  which  you  say  you 
consign  these  notes  to  me,  receipted  for  by  you  on 
d'Estourny's  account,  and  add  that  the  sheriff's  officer 
is  to  consider  the  bearer  of  the  letter  as  the  owner  of 
the  three  notes." 

44  Tell  me  your  name." 

44  Never  mind  names,"  said  Barker  ;  "  say  1  the  bearer 
of  this  letter  and  the  three  notes.'  You  shall  be  paid 
for  this  service." 

"How?"  asked  Cérizet. 


128 


Lucien  de  Rubemprê. 


"  With  a  word  in  your  ear.    You  intend  to  remain 
in  France,  don't  you?  * 
"  Tes." 

"  Well  ;  Georges  d'Estourny  will  never  return  here." 
4 'Why  not?" 

"  Because  there  are  more  than  half  a  dozen  persons 
who,  to  my  knowledge,  will  kill  him,  and  he  knows  it." 

"  Then  I 'm  not  surprised  he  has  told  me  to  send  him 
an  outfit  for  India,"  cried  Cérizet.  "  He  has  unluckily 
compelled  me  to  invest  all  his  property  in  the  Funds. 
We  are  already  debtors  for  differences.  I  live  from 
hand  to  mouth." 

"  Get  out  of  the  scrape  yourself." 

"  Ah  !  if  I  had  only  known  it  earlier  !  "  cried  Cérizet. 
"  I  have  missed  a  fortune." 

u  One  word  more,"  said  Barker.  "Prudence — 
you  are  capable  of  that  —  and  (what  I  am  not  so  sure 
about)  fidelity  !  Adieu  ;  we  shall  meet  again,  and  I  '11 
help  you  to  make  your  fortune." 

Having  cast  into  that  soul  of  mud  a  hope  which 
might  secure  its  prudence  and  fidelity  for  some  little 
time,  Barker  went  off  to  a  sheriff's  officer  on  whom  he 
could  rely,  and  ordered  him  to  get  the  various  judg- 
ments through  the  courts  against  Esther. 

"  The  money  will  be  paid,"  he  said  ;  "  it  is  an  affair 
of  honor,  and  we  want  it  clone  legally." 

The  sheriff's  officer,  thus  instructed  took  the  neces- 
sary steps,  and  being  requested  to  act  politely,  put  the 
various  summons  in  an  envelope  and  went  himself  to 
the  rue  Taitbout  to  seize  the  furniture  ;  Europe  received 
him.  The  preliminaries  of  the  arrest  for  debt  being 
thus  laid,  Esther  was  ostensibly  under  the  sword  of 


Lucien  de  Rubempré. 


129 


some  three  hundred  thousand  francs  of  undeniable 
debt.  Jacques  Collin  did  not  invent  the  situation. 
The  vaudeville  of  false  debts  is  often  played  in  Paris. 
There  are  many  sub-Gobsecks  and  sub-Gigonnets  who, 
for  a  premium,  will  play  the  trick.  Maxime  de  Trailles 
had  sometimes  made  use  of  this  means,  and  played  new 
comedies  to  the  old  score.  Carlos  Herrera,  however, 
who  wished  to  save  both  the  honor  of  his  cloth  and 
Lucien's  honor,  had  recourse  to  a  forgery  without  risk, 
though  it  is  now  so  often  practised  that  the  law  is 
beginning  to  interfere.  There  is,  they  say,  a  Bourse 
for  false  notes  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  Palais 
Royal,  where  for  three  francs  any  one  can  buy  a 
signature. 

Having  thus  laid  his  plans  to  secure  three  hundred 
thousand  of  the  million  necessary  to  the  purchase  of 
the  property  required  by  the  Grandlieus,  the  abbé 
determined  to  get  another  hundred  thousand  out  of 
Monsieur  de  Nucingen  as  a  preliminary.  In  this  way. 
By  his  orders,  Asia  paid  a  visit  to  the  baron  in  the 
character  of  an  old  woman  cognizant  of  the  affairs 
of  the  girl  in  search  of  whom  Nucingen  was  now 
employing  the  police. 

Up  to  the  present  time  various  writers  on  manners 
and  morals  have  described  many  usurers  ;  but  the 
female  usurer  who  traffics  with  her  sex  has  been  neg- 
lected. She  is  called  decently  a  marchande  de  toilette; 
and  this  was  the  part  which  Asia  was  now  about  to 
play. 

"  You  are  to  put  yourself  in  the  skin  of  Madame  de 
Saint-Estève,"  he  said. 

He  insisted  on  seeing  her  dressed  for  the  part  ;  and 
9 


130 


Lucien  de  Riibemprê. 


she  came  in  a  gown  of  flowered  damask,  made  appar- 
ently from  the  curtains  of  some  boudoir  that  had  come 
under  the  hammer,  wearing  one  of  those  faded,  worn, 
unsalable  shawls  which  end  their  lives  on  the  backs  of 
such  women.  She  wore  a  collarette  of  splendid  but 
ragged  lace,  and  a  shocking  bonnet  ;  but  her  shoes 
were  of  Irish  kid,  round  the  edges  of  which  her  flesh 
puffed  out  like  a  cushion,  covered  with  open-work  black 
silk  stockings. 

"  Look  at  the  buckle  of  my  belt,"  she  said,  pointing 
to  an  article  of  questionable  jewelry  which  her  portly 
stomach  pushed  forwards.  "  Hein  !  what  style! 
And  the  false  front,  —  does  n't  it  make  me  fine  and 
ugly?" 

"  Mind  that  you  are  honey  itself,  at  first,"  said  the 
abbé.  1  '  Be  almost  timid,  wary  as  a  cat,  and,  above 
all,  make  the  baron  ashamed  of  having  employed  the 
police  ;  but  don't  seem  to  fear  them.  Make  him  un- 
derstand, in  terms  more  or  less  clear,  that  you  defy  all 
the  police  in  the  world  to  discover  where  she  is.  Hide 
your  traces.  When  the  baron  has  given  you  a  chance 
to  put  on  the  screws,  get  insolent,  and  work  him  like  a 
lacquey." 

Nucingen,  threatened  by  Asia  that  if  he  watched 
her  he  should  never  see  her  again,  and  would  thus  lose 
all  trace  of  Esther,  met  her,  mysteriously,  in  a  wretched 
apartment  in  the  rue  Neuve- Saint-Marc,  lent  by  some 
one,  but  by  whom  the  baron  was  unable  to  ascertain. 
There  "Madame  de  Saint-Estève "  led  him  through 
various  stages  of  hope  and  despair,  playing  one  against 
the  other,  until  the  baron  was  brought  to  the  point  of 
offering  any  price  for  information  about  his  undiscov- 
erable  beauty. 


Lucien  de  Rubempré. 


131 


During  this  time  the  sheriff's  officer  was  proceeding 
through  the  various  legal  steps  (meeting,  of  course, 
with  no  opposition  from  the  unconscious  Esther)  which 
were  necessary  to  make  the  arrest  in  due  course  of 
law. 

Lucien,  accompanied,  or  rather  conducted,  by  the 
abbé,  had  paid  poor  Esther  some  five  or  six  visits  in 
her  retreat  at  Saint-Germain.  The  cruel  conductor  of 
these  machinations  had  judged  a  few  such  interviews 
necessary  to  prevent  Esther  from  fading  away,  for  her 
beauty  now  represented  to  him  capital.  On  the  last 
of  these  visits  he  took  Lucien  and  the  poor  girl  along 
a  deserted  road  to  an  open  spot  whence  they  could 
see  Paris,  and  where  no  one  could  overhear  them. 
All  three  sat  down  on  the  trunk  of  a  fallen  poplar, 
facing  the  magnificent  landscape,  one  of  the  finest  in 
the  world,  which  takes  in  the  valley  of  the  Seine, 
Montmartre,  Paris,  and  Saint-Denis. 

44  My  children,"  said  the  abbé,  "  your  dream  is  over. 
You,  my  dear,  will  never  see  Lucien  again  ;  or,  if  you 
do  see  him,  you  must  only  have  known  him  five  years 
ago  for  a  short  time." 

44  My  death  has  come  at  last,"  she  said,  without  a 
tear. 

44  Well,  you  have  been  ill  five  years,"  said  the  abbé. 
44  Fancy  yourself  consumptive,  and  die  without  boring 
us  with  elegies.  But  you  will  soon  see  that  it  is  worth 
your  while  to  live,  and  live  splendidly.  Leave  us, 
Lucien  ;  go  and  gather  sonnets,"  he  said,  pointing  to 
a  meadow  not  far  distant. 

Lucien  cast  upon  Esther  an  imploring  look,  one  of 
those  craven  looks  proper  to  weak  and  covetous  men, 


132 


Lucien  de  Rubempré. 


—  men  who  are  full  of  tenderness  in  the  heart  and 
baseness  in  the  character.  Esther  answered  by  a  sign 
of  her  head,  which  seemed  to  say,  "I  will  listen  to 
the  executioner,  and  learn  how  to  lay  my  head  upon 
the  block,  and  I  will  have  the  courage  to  die  well." 

The  gesture  was  so  gracious,  and  yet  so  full  of  hor- 
ror, that  the  poet  wept.  Esther  ran  to  him,  took  him 
in  her  arms,  and  drank  his  tears.  "  Don't  suffer!" 
she  said,  —  one  of  those  sayings  which  are  uttered 
with  the  gestures  and  the  glance  and  the  voice  of 
delirium. 

The  abbé  at  once  explained  to  her  clearly,  suc- 
cinctly, without  ambiguity,  often  with  horribly  plain 
words,  Lucien' s  critical  situation,  his  position  at  the 
hôtel  de  Grandlieu,  his  splendid  life  in  case  of  tri- 
umph, and  the  absolute  necessity  that  Esther  should 
sacrifice  herself  to  this  magnificent  future. 

"  What  must  I  do?"  she  cried,  spell-bound. 

"  Obey  blindly,"  said  Jacques  Collin.  "  Why  should 
you  complain  ?  It  rests  with  you  to  have  a  splendid 
future.    You  shall  become  what  your  former  friends 

—  Tullia,  Mariette,  Florine,  and  the  Val-Noble  —  now 
are,  the  mistress  of  a  rich  man  whom  you  do  not  love. 
Our  money  once  obtained,  he  is  rich  enough  to  give  you 
everything  to  make  }tou  happy." 

"  Happy  !  "  she  said,  raising  her  eyes  to  heaven. 

"  You  have  had  five  years  of  paradise,"  he  said. 
"  Cannot  you  live  on  those  memories?  You  owe  them 
to  Lucien;  will  you  now  destroy  his  career?" 

"  I  will  obey  you,"  she  replied,  wiping  a  tear  from 
the  corner  of  her  eyes.  "  Do  not  be  uneasy.  You  said 
true  ;  my  love  is  a  mortal  disease." 


Lucien  de  Rubemprê. 


133 


"  But  that  is  not  all,"  said  the  master  of  her  fate  ; 
"  you  must  continue  beautiful.  At  twenty-two  years 
of  age  you  are  at  your  highest  point  of  beauty,  thanks 
to  your  love.  In  short,  make  yourself  once  more  La 
Torpille.  Be  lively,  whimsical,  extravagant,  scheming, 
and  pitiless  to  the  millionnaire  whom  I  will  send  you. 
Listen  to  me  ;  that  man  has  been  pitiless  to  many. 
He  has  enriched  himself  with  the  money  of  widows 
and  orphans  ;  you  will  be  their  vengeance  !  Asia  will 
come  here  this  evening  with  a  coach  and  take  you  to 
Paris.  If  you  allow  a  suspicion  of  your  past  relations 
to  Lucien  to  get  abroad,  you  might  as  well  put  a  pistol 
shot  through  his  head.  People  will  ask  you  where  you 
have  been  during  the  last  five  years  ;  you  must  answer 
that  an  Englishman  took  you  to  travel.  You  had 
plenty  of  wit  in  former  clays  for  foolery  ;  have  it 
again." 

Did  you  ever  see  a  glittering  kite,  that  giant  butter- 
fly of  our  infancy,  sparkling  with  gold,  and  soaring 
toward  heaven?  The  child  forgets  the  cord  for  an 
instant  ;  it  slips  from  his  hand,  the  meteor  pitches  — 
as  we  say  in  school-boy  language  —  downward,  and 
falls  with  terrifying  rapidity.  Such  was  Esther  as  she 
listened  to  that  man. 


134 


Lucien  de  Bubempré. 


IX. 

A  HUNDRED  THOUSAND  FRANCS  INVESTED  IN  ASIA. 

For  more  than  a  week  Nucingen  bargained  almost 
daily  at  the  house  in  the  rue  Neuve-Saint-Marc  for  the 
delivery  of  the  woman  he  desired.  There  sat  Asia  in 
the  midst  of  handsome  garments  and  finery  that  have 
reached  the  horrid  stage  in  which  they  are  no  longer 
gowns  and  garlands,  but  are  not  yet  tatters.  The 
frame  was  in  keeping  with  the  face  of  the  woman 
now  occupying  it  ;  these  shops,  called  those  of  the 
"marchandes  de  toilettes,"  are  among  the  most 
awful  and  sinister  peculiarities  of  Paris.  Here  we 
see  the  last  frippery  of  a  human  life  cast  by  death's 
fleshless  fingers  ;  we  hear  the  rattle  of  consumptive 
lungs  beneath  a  shawl  ;  we  divine  the  anguish  of  pov- 
erty in  those  pawned  glittering  gowns.  The  cruel 
struggle  between  Luxury  and  Hunger  is  written  on 
many  a  flimsey  lace.  The  countenance  of  one  who 
was  a  queen  is  beneath  that  plumed  turban,  the  pose 
of  which  recalls,  nay,  almost  replaces,  the  absent 
face.  'T  is  the  hideous  in  the  brilliant  !  The  lash  of 
Juvenal,  in  the  hands  of  the  official  auctioneer,  scat- 
ters about  these  moth-eaten  muffs  and  faded  furs  of 
despairing  Messalinas.  'T  is  a  manure-heap  of  flowers 
where,  here  and  there,  glow  the  roses  cut  but  yester- 
day, and  worn  but  a  single  day  ;  over  which  an  old 


Lucien  de  Rubemjprê. 


135 


woman  ever  crouches,  cousin-german  to  the  usurer,  a 
bald  and  toothless  crone,  waiting  to  sell  its  contents, — 
the  gown  without  the  woman,  the  woman  without  the 
gown. 

Asia  was  there  like  the  keeper  of  the  galleys,  like 
the  vulture  with  its  beak  reddened  upon  corpses,  — 
there  in  the  bosom  of  her  element,  more  awful  even 
than  the  savage  horrors  in  the  midst  of  which  these 
women  ply  their  trade. 

From  one  irritation  to  another,  adding  ten  thousand 
to  ten  thousand,  the  banker  at  last  offered  sixty  thou- 
sand francs  to  "Madame  de  Saint-Estève,"  who  re- 
fused with  a  grimace  that  might  have  rivalled  that  of 
a  dog-faced  monkey.  After  an  agitated  night,  in 
which  he  recognized  what  disorder  this  vehement  de- 
sire was  working  in  his  brain,  and  after  a  day  of 
unexpected  gains  at  the  Bourse,  he  arrived  one  morn- 
ing with  the  intention  of  paying  the  hundred  thousand 
francs  demanded  by  Asia  ;  but  he  was  also  determined 
to  drag  out  of  her  a  vast  amount  of  information. 

"  So  you've  made  up  your  mind,  you  old  rogue," 
said  Asia,  tapping  him  on  the  shoulder. 

The  most  degrading  familiarity  is  the  first  tax  which  - 
women  of  this  sort  levy  on  the  unbridled  passions,  or 
the  abject  miseries  which  intrust  themselves  to  their 
hands.  They  never  rise  to  the  level  of  their  clients  ; 
they  make  them  sit  down  beside  them  on  their  muck- 
heap.  Asia,  as  we  see,  was  obeying  her  master 
strictly. 

"  I 'm  forced  to,"  replied  Nucingen. 
"  Well,  you  are  not  robbed/'  returned  Asia  ;  "  many 
women  are  sold  much  dearer,  relatively.    It  is  true 


136 


Lucien  de  Ruhemprê. 


you  pay  a  hundred  thousand  francs  for  her  at  the  first 
start  ;  but  what 's  that  to  you,  old  croaker?  " 
"  Where  is  she?" 

"Ah!  you  shall  see  her.  I'm  like  you,  —  nothing 
for  nothing.  Ah,  ça!  my  old  man;  your  beauty  has 
got  into  trouble.  ?T  is  n't  reasonable  in  young  girls  ; 
but  she  is  just  now  what  we  call  a  night-bird." 

"  A  what?  " 

"  Come,  now,  don't  play  the  ninny.  She  has  got 
Louchard  at  her  heels.  I 've  lent  her,  myself,  fifty 
thousand  francs." 

"  Twenty-five,  more  likely  !  "  cried  the  banker. 

"Parbleu!  twenty-five  for  fifty,  of  course,"  replied 
Asia.  "  To  do  her  justice,  she  is  honesty  itself.  She 
had  nothing  to  pay  with  but  herself,  and  so  she  came 
to  me  and  said,  'My  dear  Madame  Saint-Estève,  I  am 
sued  ;  and  not  a  soul  can  help  me  but  you.  Give  me 
twenty  thousand  francs,  and  take  a  mortgage  on  my 
heart.'  Oh,  she 's  got  a  good  heart  !  Nobody  but  me 
knows  where  she  is,  because  she  's  hiding,  you  see  ; 
and  if  the  police  were  to  find  it  out  I  should  lose  my 
twenty  thousand  francs.  She  used  to  live  in  the  rue 
Taitbout  ;  but  they 've  put  an  execution  in  there  and 
seized  her  furniture,  —  those  rascally  sheriffs  !  And 
now  they  talk  of  selling  it." 

"  So  you  play  banker,  do  you?  "  said  Nucingen. 

"  Of  course  I  do,"  returned  Asia.  "  I  lend  to 
pretty  women,  and  they  return  it  ;  that 's  how  I  dis- 
count two  notes  at  once." 

"  Well,  if  I  promise  you  that  hundred  thousand 
francs,  where  shall  I  see  her?"  he  cried,  with  the  ges- 
ture of  a  man  who  decides  to  make  every  sacrifice. 


Lucien  de  Rubemprê. 


137 


"  "Well,  old  fellow,  corne  this  evening  in  a  carriage, 
and  wait  for  rne  opposite  to  the  Gymnase.  It  is  on 
the  road,"  said  Asia.  "  Stop  at  the  corner  of  the  rue 
Saint-Barbe.  I  '11  be  there,  and  we  '11  go  and  find  my 
mortgage  with  the  black  hair.  Oh,  such  hair,  —  my 
mortgage  !  If  she  takes  out  her  comb  it  rolls  all  over 
her  like  a  flag.  But  I  advise  you  to  hide  her  away 
carefully  ;  for,  though  you  're  a  banker,  you  seem  to 
me  rather  a  nincompoop  in  other  ways.  I  warn  you 
they  '11  clap  her  into  Sainte-Pélagie  if  they  find  her  ; 
and  they  are  looking  for  her  everywhere." 

"  I  can  arrange  all  that,"  said  the  banker,  "  when  it 
is  once  understood  that  I 'm  her  protector." 

At  nine  o'clock  that  evening  he  found  Asia  at  the 
appointed  place,  and  took  her  into  the  carriage. 

4  '  Where  ?  "  said  the  baron. 

"Where?"  repeated  Asia,  —  "rue  de  la  Perle,  in 
the  Marais  ;  only  a  stopping-place.  Your  pearl  is  in 
the  mud;  but  you  "11  wash  it  off." 

When  they  reached  the  place  she  said,  with  a  fright- 
ful grin  :  '  '  Now  we  '11  go  a  little  way  on  foot  ;  1 7  m 
not  such  a  fool  as  to  give  the  right  address." 

"  You  think  of  everything,"  said  the  baron. 

44  That's  my  business,"  she  replied. 

Asia  took  him  to  the  rue  Barbette,  where,  in  a  fur- 
nished house,  kept  by  an  upholsterer  of  the  neighbor- 
hood, he  was  taken  up  to  the  fourth  floor.  When  he 
saw  Esther  in  a  meanly  furnished  room,  dressed  as  a 
working-girl,  and  doing  some  embroidery,  the  million- 
naire turned  pale.  At  the  end  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour, 
during  which  time  Asia  had  made  conversation  with 
Esther,  the  old  man  could  scarcely  speak. 


138  Lucien  de  Rubempré. 


"  Mademoiselle,"  he  said  at  last  to  the  poor  girl, 
"  will  you  have  the  kindness  to  accept  me  for  your 
protector  ?  " 

44  I  must,  monsieur,"  said  Esther,  two  heavy  tears 
rolling  down  her  cheeks. 

44  Do  not  weep;  I  will  make  you  the  happiest  of 
women.    Only  let  me  love  you,  and  you  shall  see." 

"  My  dear,"  said  Asia,  "  monsieur  is  very  reasonable  ; 
he  knows  he  is  over  sixty-five,  and  he  will  be  very  in- 
dulgent. In  short,  my  little  angel,  I  have  found  you 
a  father.  Better  tell  her  that,"  she  whispered  to  the 
surprised  banker;  44  you  can't  catch  swallows  with 
pistol-shots.  Come  here,"  she  added,  dragging  Nucin- 
gen  into  the  next  room,  — 44  you  remember  our  little 
agreement,  old  man?" 

Nucingen  drew  from  the  pocket  of  his  coat  a  port- 
folio, out  of  which  he  took  and  counted  the  hundred 
thousand  francs,  which  the  abbé,  hidden  in  a  closet, 
was  awaiting  with  keen  impatience,  and  which  Asia 
presently  made  over  to  him. 

44  Here 's  the  hundred  thousand  francs  our  man  in- 
vests in  Asia,"  he  said  to  her  when  they  reached  the 
landing  ;  44  now  he  must  be  made  to  invest  in  Europe." 

He  disappeared  after  giving  his  instructions  to  the 
woman,  who  re-entered  the  room  where  Esther  was 
weeping  bitterly.  The  girl,  like  a  criminal  condemned 
to  death,  had  made  a  romance  of  hope,  but  the  fatal 
hour  had  come. 

44  My  dear  children,"  said  Asia,  44  where  will  you 
go?  for  you  cannot  stay  in  such  a  place  as  this.  Ma- 
dame's  former  maid,"  she  added,  addressing  Nucin- 
gen, 44  can  take  you  in  at  madame's  old  lodgings  in 


Lucien  de  Rubemprê. 


139 


the  rue  Taitbout.  Louehard  and  the  sheriff's  officer 
will  never  think  of  looking  for  her  there  —  " 

"That  will  do!  that  will  do!"  cried  the  banker. 
"  Besides,  I  know  Louehard,  who  is  a  commercial 
guard,  very  well.  I  have  ways  of  getting  rid  of 
him." 

Asia  took  Nucingen  aside,  and  said  :  — 
"  For  five  hundred  francs  a  month  paid  to  Eugenie, 
who  is  making  her  pile  fast,  you  can  know  everything 
that  madame  does.  Keep  her  as  madame's  maid  ;  but 
put  a  curb  on  her.  She 's  all  for  money,  that  girl,  — 
horrid  !  " 

"What  of  you?" 

"  I?  "  said  Asia,  —  "  I 'm  only  paying  myself  back." 

Nucingen,  sly  and  cautious  as  he  was,  had  a  band- 
age about  his  eyes,  and  let  himself  be  managed  like 
an  infant. 

"Will  you  come  to  the  rue  Taitbout?"  he  said  to 
Esther. 

"  Where  you  please,  monsieur,"  she  replied,  rising. 

"  Where  I  please  !  "  he  replied,  with  delight.  "  You 
are  an  angel  from  heaven,  whom  I  love  as  if  I  were  a 
young  man,  though  my  hair  is  gray." 

"  Gray  !  "  cried  Asia,  "  better  say  white.  It  is  dyed 
too  black  a  black  to  be  only  gray." 

"Go,  you  vile  seller  of  human  flesh!  You  have 
your  money  ;  don't  come  near  this  flower  again,"  cried 
the  banker,  revenging  himself  by  this  apostrophe  for 
all  the  insolence  she  had  made  him  bear.  Then  he 
gave  his  arm  to  Esther  and  took  her  as  she  was  to  the 
carriage,  with  more  respect,  perhaps,  than  he  would 
have  shown  to  the  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse. 


140 


Lucien  de  lîubemprê. 


When  they  reached  the  rue  Taitbout,  Esther  was 
overcome  by  the  sorrowful  impressions  produced  upon 
her  by  the  scene  of  her  happiness.  She  sat  down  on 
a  sofa,  motionless,  brushing  away  her  tears  as  they 
fell,  and  not  even  hearing  one  word  of  the  professions 
which  the  baron  was  stammering  at  her  feet.  She  let 
him  stay  there  without  notice  ;  she  left  her  hands  in 
his  when  he  took  them,  unconscious  who,  or  of  what 
sex,  the  creature  was  who  kuelt  beside  her.  This  scene 
of  scalding  tears  falling  on  the  baron's  head,  and  en- 
treaties on  his  part,  lasted  more  than  an  hour.  At 
last  he  called  to  Europe. 

"  Eugenie,"  he  said,  "  persuade  your  mistress  to 
listen  to  me." 

"  No,"  cried  Esther,  springing  up  like  a  frightened 
horse,  "  never  here  !  " 

"  Listen  to  me,  monsieur,"  said  Europe.  "  I  know 
madame  ;  she  is  good  and  gentle  as  a  lamb.  But  you 
must  n't  be  rough  ;  you  must  take  the  right  way  with 
her.  She  has  been  so  unhappy  here  !  See  how  shabby 
this  furniture  is.  Let  her  follow  her  own  ideas  now. 
Find  some  pretty  house  for  her  and  arrange  it  nicely. 
When  she  sees  everything  new  about  her  she  '11  feel 
differently  ;  I  dare  say  she  '11  think  you  better  than 
you  are,  and  be  as  gentle  as  an  angel.  Madame  has  n't 
her  equal  for  goodness  !  You  may  boast  of  your  ac- 
quisition, indeed,  —  such  a  kind  heart,  and  pretty 
manners,  ah,  and  wit  enough  to  make  a  man  laugh  on 
his  way  to  the  scaffold  !  And,  then,  does  n't  madame 
know  how  to  dress  !  But  it  is  too  bad,  —  all  her  pretty 
gowns  are  seized  !  I  know  how  she  feels,  for  I  love 
her  ;  she 's  my  mistress.    A  woman  like  her  to  see  her- 


Lucien  de  Bubempré. 


141 


self  here  in  the  midst  of  her  furniture  attached  by  the 
sheriff  !  You  must  be  just  to  her,  poor  little  woman  ; 
she  is  not  herself  !  " 

"Esther,  Esther,"  said  the  baron,  "if  it  is  I  who 
frighten  you,  leave  me  ;  go  to  your  room.  I  will  stay 
here  alone,"  he  cried,  prompted  by  real  love  at  the 
sight  of  her  tears. 

"  Ah,"  she  said,  taking  his  hand  and  kissing  it  with 
a  gratitude  that  brought  something  like  a  tear  to  the 
eyes  of  the  hard  man  of  business,  "  I  will  thank  you 
forever  !  "  and  she  fled  to  her  chamber,  where  she 
locked  herself  in. 

"There  is  something  inexplicable  in  all  this,"  said 
Nucingen  to  himself,  sitting  down  on  the  sofa.  Then 
he  rose  and  looked  out  of  the  window.  It  was  just 
daylight.  He  walked  about  the  room,  and  listened  at 
the  door  of  the  chamber. 

"  Esther  !  "  Xo  answer.  "  She  is  weeping  still  !  " 
he  cried,  throwing  himself  on  the  sofa- 
Less  than  ten  minutes  after  the  sun  rose  the  baron 
was  roused  with  a  bound  by  Europe,  who  rushed  into 
the  room  crying  out  :  — 

"Oh,  madame,  madame!  the  soldiers!  the  police! 
They 've  come  to  arrest  you  !  " 

At  the  moment  when  Esther  opened  her  door  and 
showed  herself,  with  her  dressing-gown  hastily  thrown 
on,  her  feet  in  slippers,  and  her  hair  in  disorder,  the 
door  of  the  salon  gave  entrance  to  a  crowd  of  officials 
and  gendarmes.  One  of  them,  Contenson,  a  member 
of  the  detective  police,  went  up  to  her  and  laid  his 
hand  upon  her  shoulder. 

"You  are  Mademoiselle  Esther  van  Gobseck?  "  he 
said. 


142 


Lucien  de  Eiobempré. 


Europe,  with  a  back-handed  blow  upon  his  cheek, 
sent  him  reeling. 

"  Back  !  "  she  cried  ;  "  you  shall  not  touch  my 
mistress." 

From  the  crowd  of  soldiers  and  bailiffs  Louchard 
now  advanced,  with  his  hat  on  his  head,  laughing. 

"Mademoiselle,"  he  said,  "I  arrest  you.  As  for 
you,  my  girl,"  —  this  to  Europe,  —  "  obstruction  will 
be  punished,  and  resistance  is  useless." 

The  sound  of  the  muskets,  as  they  were  dropped  on 
the  tiles  of  the  antechamber,  showed  the  number  of 
the  guard,  and  enforced  the  words. 

"  But  why  do  you  arrest  me?"  asked  Esther. 

"  How  about  our  little  debts?  "  asked  Louchard. 

"  Ah,  true  !  "  cried  Esther  ;  "let  me  dress  myself." 

All  this  took  place  so  rapidly  that  the  baron  had 
had  no  time  to  interfere.  He  now  threw  himself  be- 
tween Esther  and  Louchard,  who  hastily  took  off  his 
hat  as  Contenson  called  out  :  — 

"  Monsieur  le  Baron  de  Nucingen." 

At  a  sign  from  Louchard  the  squad  of  men  vacated 
the  room.    Contenson  alone  remained. 

"Will  monsieur  le  baron  pay?"  asked  the  officer, 
hat  in  hand. 

"  I  will  pay,"  said  the  banker  ;  "  but  I  must  know 
what  all  this  means." 

"  The  sum  is  three  hundred  and  twelve  thousand 
francs,  costs  of  suits  and  of  arrest  not  included." 

"  Three  hundred  thousand  francs  !  "  cried  the  baron  ; 
"  the  sum  is  too  high." 

"Oh,  monsieur!"  interrupted  Europe,  "can  you 
have  the  heart  to  let  my  mistress  go  to  prison?  Take 


Lucien  de  Rubemjpré. 


143 


my  wages,  my  savings,  —  take  them,  madame  ;  I  have 
forty  thousand  francs." 

"  Ah,  my  poor  girl,  I  have  never  done  you  justice  !  " 
said  Esther,  pressing  Europe  in  her  arms.  Europe 
burst  into  tears. 

"  I  will  pay  !  "  said  the  baron,  piteously,  pulling  out 
a  cheque-book,  and  preparing  to  fill  out  a  cheque. 

"  Don't  give  yourself  that  trouble,  monsieur  le 
baron,"  said  Louchard  ;  "my  orders  are  to  take  noth- 
ing but  gold  or  silver.  But,  as  you  are  concerned  in 
the  matter,  I  will  consent  to  receive  bank-bills." 

"The  devil!"  cried  the  baron.  "Show  me  the 
papers.  Ah,  my  child,"  he  said  to  Esther,  as  soon  as 
he  saw  the  bill  of  exchange  bearing  Georges  d'Es- 
tourny's  name,  "you  are  the  victim  of  a  great  scoun- 
drel, a  swindler  !  " 

"  Alas  !  yes,"  said  poor  Esther  ;  "  but  he  was  fond 
of  me  once." 

"  Will  monsieur  le  baron  write  a  line  to  his  cashier? n 
said  Louchard.  "I'll  send  Contenson  to  him,  and 
dismiss  my  men.  It  is  getting  late,  and  everybody 
will  know  —  " 

"Right!"  said  Nucingen,  "send  at  once;  my 
cashier  lives  at  the  corner  of  the  rue  des  Mathurins. 
I  will  give  you  a  line,  and  he  will  bring  the  money." 

Louchard  took  the  bills  of  exchange  from  the  baron, 
and  remained  alone  with  him  in  the  salon.  Esther  re- 
turned to  her  room.  In  about  half  an  hour  Contenson 
came  back  with  the  cashier.  Esther  then  reappeared, 
having  dressed  herself.  When  Louchard  had  counted 
the  money,  and  the  bills  were  handed  over  to  Nucin- 
gen, Esther  seized  them  from  him  with  the  gesture  of 
a  kitten,  and  put  them  in  her  secretary. 


144 


Lucien  de  Rubemprc. 


Louchard  departed,  followed  by  Contenson  ;  but  as 
soon  as  they  reached  the  boulevard,  Asia,  who  was  on 
the  watch,  stopped  them. 

"  The  agent  and  the  creditor  are  here  in  a  coach," 
she  said.  "  They  are  thirsty  for  their  property,  and 
there  's  money  in  it  for  you,"  she  added. 

While  Louchard  counted  out  the  money,  Contenson 
examined  the  clients.  He  saw  the  abbe's  eyes  ;  he 
noticed  the  shape  of  his  forehead  under  the  wig,  and 
the  wig  seemed  to  him  suspicious.  He  took  the  num- 
ber of  the  hackney-coach,  while  apparently  indifferent 
to  what  was  going  on.  Asia  and  Europe  puzzled  him 
to  the  last  degree.  He  felt  certain  that  the  baron  was 
being  victimized  by  a  very  able  set  of  rogues,  —  all 
the  more  because  Louchard,  in  asking  for  his  help,  had 
been  unusually  reticent. 

The  disguised  abbé  dismissed  Louchard,  paid  him 
generously,  and  got  into  the  hackney-coach,  saying  :  — 

"  Palais-Royal,  —  the  portico  !  " 

"  Ah,  the  rascal  !  "  thought  Contenson,  overhearing 
the  order  ;  "  there 's  something  under  all  this." 

The  abbé  reached  the  Palais-Royal  at  a  pace  that 
relieved  him  of  all  fear  of  being  followed.  He  crossed 
the  galleries  after  his  own  fashion,  took  another  hack- 
ney-coach near  the  Château-d'Eau,  saying,  "Passage 
de  l'Opéra  on  the  side  of  the  rue  Pinon."  Fifteen 
minutes  later  he  was  back  in  the  rue  Taitbout. 

As  soon  as  Esther  saw  him  she  cried  out,  giving  him 
the  bills  of  exchange  :  — 

"  Here  are  those  fatal  papers  !  " 

The  abbé  took  them,  looked  them  carefully  over, 
and  then  went  and  burned  them  in  the  kitchen  fire. 


Lucien  de  Rubernpré. 


145 


"  The  trick  is  played,"  he  said,  showing  the  three 
hundred  thousand  francs  rolled  in  a  packet  which  he 
took  from  the  pocket  of  his  overcoat.  '  '  These  and 
Asia's  hundred  thousand  will  enable  us  to  act." 

"Oh,  my  God  !  "  cried  poor  Esther. 

"Idiot!  "  said  the  savage  sharper,  "be  Nucingen's 
mistress  ostensibly,  and  you  can  still  see  Lucien  ;  he 
is  Nucingen's  friend.    I  don't  forbid  your  seeing  him." 

Esther  saw  a  faint  ray  of  light  in  her  darkness,  and 
breathed  freer. 

"Europe,  my  girl,"  said  the  abbé,  taking  the  woman 
into  the  boudoir  where  not  a  word  of  the  conversation 
could  be  overheard,  "  I  am  satisfied  with  you." 

Europe  raised  her  head  and  looked  at  this  man  with 
an  expression  that  so  changed  her  blighted  face  that 
Asia,  who  was  watching  at  the  door,  asked  herself  by 
what  chain  he  held  Europe  which  was  stronger  than 
that  by  which  she  herself  was  riveted  to  him. 

"But  the  thing  is  not  all  done  yet,"  he  went  on. 
"  Four  hundred  thousand  francs  are  not  enough  for 
me.  There  's  a  bill  for  silver-plate  which  amounts  to 
thirty  thousand  francs,  on  which  something  has  been 
paid  ;  but  Biddin,  the  jeweller,  has  been  put  to  some 
costs.  The  furniture  will  be  attached  by  him  to-mor- 
row. See  him  to-day  ;  he  lives  rue  de  l'Arbre-Sec. 
He  will  give  you  pawn-tickets  of  the  Mont-de-Piété  for 
ten  thousand  francs.  You  understand?  Esther  had 
the  silver  made,  and  has  n't  paid  for  it,  but  pawned 
it;  she  is  threatened  with  a  complaint  for  swindling. 
Therefore  he  must  pay  thirty  thousand  to  the  jeweller, 
and  ten  thousand  to  the  Mont-de-Piété,  to  recover  the 
property.    With  the  costs,  that  will  be  forty-three 

10 


146 


Lucien  de  Bubempré. 


thousand  francs.  That  plate  has  loads  of  alloy  in  it. 
The  baron  will  want  to  replace  it  ;  we  can  get  a  little 
off  of  him  that  way.  You  owe  —  how  much  for  two 
years  to  the  dressmaker?" 

u  Six  thousand  francs  or  so,"  replied  Europe. 

"  Well,  if  Madame  Auguste  wants  to  be  paid  and 
keep  our  custom,  she  must  make  out  a  bill  for  thirty 
thousand  francs  standing  four  years.  Do  the  same 
with  the  milliner.  That  Jew  in  the  rue  Saint-Avoie, 
Samuel  Frisch,  the  jeweller,  will  help  you  ;  we  must 
owe  him  twenty-five  thousand,  and  have  the  jewelry  in 
pawn  for  six  thousand.  We  return  the  jewels  to  him, 
which  are  half  false,  so  the  baron  must  not  be  allowed 
to  examine  them  too  closely.  In  short,  you  must  make 
him  vomit  at  least  a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs 
within  the  next  week." 

44  Madame  ought  to  help  me  a  little,"  replied  Europe. 
44  Speak  to  her  ;  she  sits  like  one  daft,  and  obliges  me 
to  have  more  wit  than  three  authors  to  one  play." 

44  If  Esther  turns  prude,  let  me  know,"  said  the 
abbé.  44  Nucingen  will  give  her  a  carriage  and  horses, 
and  she  must  insist  on  choosing  them  herself.  Buy 
them  from  the  man  where  Paccard  is  employed.  You 
can  get  fine  horses  there,  very  dear,  and  they  '11  go 
lame  in  a  month,  and  he  '11  have  to  get  others." 

44  One  might  get  five  or  six  thousand  francs  on  the 
perfumer's  bill,"  said  Europe. 

44  Oh,"  said  the  abbé,  shaking  his  head,  44  go  gently, 
screw  by  screw  !  Nucingen  has  only  put  one  arm  in 
the  machine  as  yet  ;  we  must  get  his  whole  head  in. 
Besides  all  this,  I  shall  want  another  five  hundred 
thousand." 


Lucien  de  Rubempré. 


147 


"You'll  have  them,"  replied  Europe;  "madame 
will  soften  about  the  sixth  hundred  thousand,  and  the 
rest  she  can  get  for  you  herself." 

"  Listen  to  me,  my  girl,"  said  the  abbé  ;  "  the  day 
I  receive  the  last  hundred  thousand,  you  shall  have 
twenty  thousand  for  yourself." 

"What  good  will  they  do  me?"  said  Europe,  let- 
ting her  arms  drop  like  one  to  whom  existence  is 
impossible. 

"  You  can  go  back  to  Valenciennes,  buy  a  fine  busi- 
ness, and  become  an  honest  woman  if  you  choose,  — 
every  one  to  his  taste  in  this  world.  Paccard  thinks 
of  it  ;  his  shoulder  is  clear,  and  he  has  n't  much  on  his 
conscience.    You  and  he  can  marry." 

"  Go  back  to  Valenciennes!  how  can  you  say  so, 
monsieur?"  cried  Europe,  as  if  terrified. 

Born  in  Valenciennes,  of  poor  weavers,  Europe  was 
sent  at  seven  years  of  age  into  a  rope-walk,  where 
modern  industry  abused  her  physical  forces,  and  vice 
depraved  her  before  her  time.  Corrupted  at  twelve,  a 
mother  before  she  was  thirteen,  she  found  herself  fas- 
tened for  life  to  degraded  beings.  In  consequence  of  a 
murder  she  was  brought  before  the  court  of  assizes  as  a 
witness.  Influenced  at  sixteen  by  a  last  remnant  of 
integrity,  and  by  fear  of  the  law,  she  told  the  truth, 
and  her  evidence  condemned  the  accused  to  twenty 
years  at  the  galleys.  The  criminal,  known  for  his 
ferocious  and  revengeful  nature,  said  to  the  girl,  before 
the  whole  court-room  :  "In  ten  years  from  now,  Pru- 
dence (Europe's  name  was  Prudence  Servien) ,  I  '11  re- 
turn to  put  you  underground,  if  I  go  to  the  scaffold 
for  it."     The  president  of  the  court  endeavored  to 


148 


Lucien  de  Rubemprê. 


reassure  the  girl,  promising  her  the  protection  and 
watchfulness  of  the  law  ;  but  the  poor  creature  was  so 
terrified  that  she  fell  ill,  and  was  a  year  in  hospital. 

Law,  or  call  it  Justice,  is  a  reasoning  being,  repre- 
sented by  a  collection  of  individuals  who  are  con- 
stantly removed  and  renewed  ;  whose  good  intentions 
and  recollections  are,  like  themselves,  extremely  am- 
bulatory. The  courts  can  do  nothing  to  prevent  crime  ; 
they  are  invented  to  deal  with  them  ready  made.  A 
preventive  police  would  be  a  blessing  to  any  country  ; 
but  the  word  police  frighteus  the  legislator  of  to  day, 
who  no  longer  knows  how  to  distinguish  between  the 
terms,  to  govern,  to  administrate,  to  make  laws.  The 
legislator  now  tends  to  gather  up  all  into  the  State,  as 
it  were  capable  of  acting. 

The  convict,  no  doubt,  continued  to  think  of  his  vic- 
tim and  of  his  vengeance  when  law  and  justice  had 
forgotten  all  about  them.  Prudence,  who  understood 
her  danger,  left  Valenciennes  and  came,  when  seven- 
teen years  old,  to  Paris,  thinking  she  could  be  better 
hidden  there.  She  took  up  four  callings,  the  best  of 
which  was  supernumerary  at  a  minor  theatre.  There 
she  met  Paccard,  to  whom  she  related  her  troubles. 
Paccard,  the  right  arm  and  henchman  of  Jacques 
Collin,  spoke  of  Prudence  to  his  master  ;  and  when 
the  master  wanted  a  slave,  he  said  to  Prudence,  "  If 
you  will  serve  me  as  people  are  made  to  serve  the 
devil,  I'll  rid  you  of  Durut,"  —  Durut  being  the  con- 
vict and  the  sword  of  Damocles  over  her  head. 
Without  these  details  Europe's  devotion  might  seem 
unnatural  ;  and  no  one  would  have  understood  the 
scenic  effect  the  abbé  now  produced. 


Lucien  de  Hubemjpré. 


149 


"  Yes,  my  girl,  you  can  safely  return  to  Valen- 
ciennes. Here,  read  that,"  and  he  took  a  newspaper 
from  his  pocket,  and  pointed  to  an  article  headed  : 
"  Toulon.  Yesterday,  the  execution  of  Jean- François 
Durut  took  place.  From  early  morning  the  garrison," 
etc.,  etc. 

Prudence  let  fall  the  paper  ;  her  legs  gave  way  un- 
der the  weight  of  her  body.  Life  came  back  to  her, 
for  she  had  not,  as  she  said  herself,  known  a  relish  for 
food  since  the  day  of  Durut's  threat. 

"  You  see  I  have  kept  my  word.  It  has  taken  me 
four  years  to  inveigle  Durut  and  drop  his  head  into 
the  basket.  Well,  now,  then,  finish  my  work  here,  and 
you  shall  be  put  into  a  nice  little  business  in  your  own 
town,  rich  by  twenty  thousand  francs,  and  married 
to  Paccard,  to  whom  I  '11  grant  virtue  as  a  retiring 
pension." 

Europe  picked  up  the  paper  and  read  with  glaring 
eyes  the  details  which  all  newspapers  have  never  wea- 
ried of  giving  for  the  last  twenty  years  about  the  exe- 
cution of  criminals,  —  the  imposing  scene,  the  priest 
who  converts  the  patient,  the  hardened  criminal  who 
exhorts  his  late  colleagues,  the  artillery  drawn  up  in 
line  with  cannon  pointed,  the  kneeling  galley-slaves, 
and  the  trite  and  commonplace  reflections,  which  do 
nothing  to  change  the  condition  of  the  galleys  where 
eighteen  thousand  crimes  are  swarming. 

"  Asia  must  come  back  here  as  cook,"  said  the  abbe, 
signing  to  her  to  join  them,  "and  Paccard  must  be 
coachman  instead  of  chasseur.  Coachmen  don't  leave 
their  box,  and  are  not  so  much  watched  as  footmen." 

"Are  we  to  have  other  servants?"  asked  Asia, 
doubtfully. 


150 


Lucien  de  Rubempré. 


44  Honest  people,"  replied  Herrera. 
44  Weak  fools  !  "  retorted  Asia. 

44  If  the  baron  hires  a  house,  Paccard  has  a  friend 
who  will  do  for  concierge,"  said  the  abbé.  44  Then  we 
shall  need  a  footman  and  a  kitchen-girl  ;  you  can  very 
well  manage  two  strangers." 

As  the  abbé  was  about  to  leave  the  house  Paccard 
appeared. 

44  Wait,"  said  the  chasseur,  44  there  are  people  in  the 
street." 

Those  simple  words  were  so  alarming  that  Herrera 
went  up  to  Europe's  room  and  remained  there  until 
Paccard  returned  with  a  hired  carriage,  which  was 
driven  into  the  court-yard.  When  he  reached  the 
faubourg  Saint-Antoine,  the  abbé  got  out  and  walked 
to  a  stand  of  hackney-coaches,  where  he  took  one  and 
returned  to  the  quai  Malaquais,  thus  baffling  any  pos- 
sible curiosity. 

44  Here,  my  boy,"  he  said,  showing  Lucien  the  four 
hundred  thousand  francs  in  notes,  —  "here's  a  first 
payment  on  account  for  the  estate  of  Rubempré.  I 
propose  to  speculate  with  one  hundred  thousand  of  it. 
They  've  just  put  that  Omnibus  stock  on  the  market. 
Parisians  will  be  taken  by  such  a  novelty,  and  we  '11 
triple  the  investment  in  six  months.  I  know  the  ins 
and  outs  of  it  ;  they  mean  to  pay  splendid  dividends 
at  first  out  of  the  capital  to  run  up  the  stock,  —  an  idea 
of  Nucingen's.  In  recovering  the  Rubempré  estate  we 
need  n't  pay  the  whole  cost  immediately.  You  must 
see  des  Lupeaulx,  and  ask  him  to  recommend  you  to 
a  lawyer  named  Desroches,  a  sharp  rascal,  whom  you 
should  see  at  his  own  office.    Tell  him  to  go  to  Ru- 


Lucien  de  Rubemprê.  151 


bempré  and  study  the  ground  ;  promise  him  a  fee  of 
twenty  thousand  francs  if  he  will  manage  to  buy  you 
for  eight  hundred  thousand  francs  land  enough  around 
the  ruins  of  the  old  chateau  to  give  you  a  rental  of 
thirty  thousand  a  year." 

"  How  you  go  !  you  go  !  you  go  !  " 

1  'Yes,  I  go  on  and  on.  But  no  joking  now.  Go 
and  put  three  hundred  thousand  at  once  into  Treasury 
bonds,  so  as  to  lose  no  interest.  You  can  safely  leave 
them  with  Desroches  ;  he 's  as  honest  as  he  is  sly. 
Having  done  that,  go  to  Angoulême  ;  see  your  sister 
and  David  Séchard,  and  coax  them  to  tell  a  little  offi- 
ciai lie  in  your  behalf.  Your  relations  must  be  sup- 
posed to  have  given  you  six  hundred  thousand  francs 
to  facilitate  your  marriage  with  Clotilde  de  Grandlieu  ; 
there 's  nothing  dishonorable  in  that." 

"We  are  saved!"  cried  Lucien,  dazzled  at  the 
prospect. 

"  You  are,  yes,"  replied  the  abbé,  "though  not 
really  saved  until  you  come  out  of  Saint-Thomas 
d'Aquin  with  Clotilde  as  your  wife." 

"What  do  you  fear  for  yourself?"  asked  Lucien, 
with  much  apparent  interest. 

"  Some  inquisitive  persons,  I  don't  yet  know  who, 
are  on  my  traces,"  said  the  abbé.  "  I  shall  have  to 
seem  a  real  priest;  and  that's  extremely  annoying. 
The  devil  won't  protect  me  if  he  sees  me  going  about 
with  a  breviary  under  my  arm." 


152 


Lucien  de  Rubempré. 


X. 

PROFIT  AND  LOSS. 

If  rich  men  of  Baron  de  Nucingen's  stripe  have 
more  occasions  than  other  men  for  losing  money,  they 
have  also  far  more  opportunity  for  making  it,  even 
when  indulging  their  follies.  Though  the  financial 
policy  of  the  famous  banking-house  of  Nucingen  has 
been  fully  explained  elsewhere,  it  may  not  be  useless 
to  remark  here  that  such  large  fortunes  are  not  ac- 
quired, not  consolidated,  not  augmented,  and  not  pre- 
served, during  periods  of  commercial,  political,  and 
industrial  revolution,  without  immense  losses  of  capi- 
tal, or,  if  you  prefer  it,  without  enormous  taxes  being 
levied  on  private  fortunes.  Very  little  fresh  wealth  is 
poured  into  the  common  treasury  of  the  globe.  All 
additional  monopoly  represents  some  new  inequality  in 
the  general  distribution  of  it.  What  the  State  exacts 
it  returns  ;  but  what  a  house  like  that  of  Nucingen 
takes  it  keeps.  This  coup  de  Jarnac  escapes  the  law, 
for  the  reason  that  would  have  made  Frederick  II. 
a  Jacques  Collin,  or  a  Mandrin,  if,  instead  of  operat- 
ing on  provinces  with  battles,  he  had  spent  his  ener- 
gies in  outlawry,  or  in  manipulating  stocks.  To  force 
the  European  States  to  borrow  at  twenty  or  ten  per 
cent,  to  gain  these  ten  or  twenty  per  cent  with  the 
capital  of  the  people,  to  levy  a  tax  on  industries  by 
seizing  raw  material,  to  fling  a  rope  to  the  originator 


Lucien  de  Eubemprê. 


153 


of  some  enterprise  and  bring  him  to  the  surface  of  the 
water  just  long  enough  to  fish  out  his  submerged  plan, 
—  in  short,  all  such  battles  for  lucre  constitute  the 
statecraft  of  money.  Certainly,  there  are  risks  for 
the  banker  as  for  the  conqueror  ;  but  there  are  so  few 
persons  in  a  position  to  fight  him  that  the  flock  know 
nothing  of  it.  These  great  manoeuvres  take  place  only 
among  the  shepherds.  Moreover,  as  the  "executed" 
(consecrated  slang  term  for  the  Bourse  gamblers  who 
fail)  are  always  guilty  of  trying  to  make  unholy  gains, 
very  little  interest  is  felt  in  misfortunes  caused  by 
such  manoeuvres  as  those  of  the  house  of  Nucingen. 
When  a  speculator  blows  out  his  brains,  a  broker 
takes  to  flight,  a  notary  carries  off  the  means  of  a 
hundred  households  (which  is  far  worse  than  killing 
one  man),  or  a  banker  goes  into  liquidation,  —  such 
catastrophes,  forgotten  in  Paris  in  a  few  months,  are 
soon  covered  by  the  tumbling  waves  of  the  great  city. 
The  colossal  fortunes  of  such  beings  as  Jacques  Cœur, 
the  Medici,  Ango  of  Dieppe,  the  Auffredis  of  La  Ro- 
chelle, the  Fuggers,  the  Tiepolos,  and  the  Corners,  were 
honestly  obtained  by  privileges  due  to  the  ignorance 
which  prevailed  in  those  days  of  the  source  of  precious 
commodities.  But  to-day  geographical  knowledge  has 
so  penetrated  the  masses,  competition  has  so  limited 
profits,  that  all  rapidly  acquired  wealth  is  either  the 
result  of  chance  or  of  some  discovery,  or  else  the  re- 
sult of  a  legal  theft.  Corrupted  by  scandalous  exam- 
ples, trade  has  carried  out,  especially  within  the  last 
ten  years,  the  treacherous  practices  of  commerce  by 
shameful  adulterations  of  raw  material.  Wherever 
chemistry  is  known  wine  is  no  longer  drunk,  and  the 


154 


Lucien  de  EubemprS. 


vine-growing  industry  languishes.  Salt  is  adulterated 
to  cheat  the  treasury.  The  courts  are  alarmed  by  this 
widespread  dishonesty.  In  short,  French  commerce  is 
distrusted  by  the  whole  world,  and  England  is  getting 
equally  demoralized.  The  evil  comes,  with  us,  from 
our  political  regime.  The  Charter  proclaimed  the  king- 
ship of  money  ;  material  success  becomes,  therefore, 
the  main  object  of  an  atheistical  epoch.  Corruption  in 
the  higher  spheres  is,  in  spite  of  the  dazzling  results 
of  wealth  and  their  specious  reasons,  infinitely  more 
hideous  than  the  ignoble  and  quasi-personal  corrup- 
tions in  the  lower  spheres,  —  a  few  details  of  which 
play  the  comic,  or,  if  you  choose,  the  terrible,  in  this 
scene.  The  ministers,  afraid  of  all  new  thought,  have 
banished  the  comic  of  the  present  day  from  the  stage. 
The  bourgeoisie,  less  liberal  than  Louis  XIV.,  tremble 
at  a  modern  44  Mariage  de  Figaro,"  forbid  the  presen- 
tation of  a  political  "Tartuffe,"  and,  most  certainly, 
would  not  allow  44  Turcaret  "  to  be  played  in  these 
days  ;  for  Turcaret  is  now  supreme.  Consequently,  the 
comic  must  be  related,  not  played  ;  books  become  a 
weapon,  less  rapid,  it  is  true,  but  more  sure  than  the 
drama  of  the  poets. 

Sure  of  obtaining  Esther  sooner  or  later,  the  baron 
became  once  more  the  great  financier  that  he  was.  He 
went  back  to  the  direction  of  his  affairs  with  such 
readiness  that  his  cashier  found  him  at  six  o'clock  on 
the  following  morning  in  his  counting-room  looking 
over  his  securities  and  rubbing  his  hands.  During  the 
morning,  in  the  midst  of  the  coming  and  going  of 
clients  and  the  giving  of  orders,  one  of  his  brokers  in- 
formed him  of  the  disappearance  of  a  brother  broker,  — 


Lucien  de  RubemprS. 


155 


the  cleverest  and  richest  of  them  all,  —  Jacques  Falleix, 
successor  of  Jules  Desmarets.  He  was  chief  broker  to 
the  firm  of  Nucingen.  In  conjunction  with  du  Tillet 
and  the  Kellers,  the  baron  had  brought  about  the  ruin 
of  this  man  as  coolly  as  he  might  have  ordered  the  kill- 
ing of  a  sheep  for  the  Passover. 

"He  could  n't  hold  on,"  replied  Nucingen,  tranquilly. 

Jacques  Falleix  had  rendered  enormous  services  to 
stock-jobbers.  But  to  expect  gratitude  from  these 
money-lynxes  is  like  asking  the  wolves  of  the  Ukraine 
in  winter  not  to  eat  you  up. 

"Poor  man!"  replied  the  broker,  "he  so  little 
expected  this  disaster  that  he  had  just  furnished  a 
charming  little  house  in  the  place  Saint-Georges  for 
his  mistress.  He  spent  more  than  a  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  francs  in  furniture  and  pictures  alone." 

"Ah!"  said  Nucingen,  "had  he  paid  anything  on 
them?" 

"  No,"  said  the  broker,  "  no  upholsterer  or  picture- 
dealer  would  have  feared  to  give  him  credit.  It  seems 
he  had  a  fine  cellar.  The  house  was  for  sale,  and  he 
meant  to  buy  it.  The  lease  is  in  his  own  name  ;  what 
a  piece  of  folly  !  The  result  is  that  everything  — 
plate,  furniture,  wines,  carriage,  and  horses  —  goes  to 
the  hammer,  and  what  will  the  creditors  get  ?  " 

"Come  to-morrow,"  said  Nucingen.  "I  will  go 
and  see  the  place  ;  if  no  bankruptcy  is  declared,  we  '11 
arrange  matters  quietly,  and  you  can  offer  a  reasonable 
price  for  the  whole,  taking  the  lease." 

"  Oh,  that  can  be  done  easily  !  "  said  the  broker. 
"  If  you  go  there  this  morning,  you  '11  find  one  of 
Falleix's  partners  with  the  upholsterers,  who  are  try- 
ing to  prove  a  first  claim  on  the  property." 


156 


Lucien  de  Rubemprê. 


This  failure  forced  the  baron  to  go  to  the  Bourse, 
but  in  leaving  the  rue  Saint-Lazare  he  was  unable  to 
resist  going  through  thf  rue  Taitbout.  The  gain  he 
expected  to  make  out  of  the  ruin  of  his  broker  made 
the  loss  of  his  four  hundred  thousand  francs  compara- 
tively light  ;  and  he  wanted  to  announce  to  his  angel 
that  she  would  soon  be  mistress  of  a  4  '  little  balace  " 
(as  he  said  in  his  German  accent),  where  no  fond 
memories  would  oppose  their  happiness.  At  the  cor- 
ner of  the  rue  des  Trois-Frères  he  met  Europe,  her  face 
quite  convulsed. 

"  Where  are  you  going?"  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  monsieur,  I  was  going  to  you!  Such  a  mis- 
fortune !  When  madame's  creditors  found  out  she 
had  returned,  they  came  down  upon  us  like  a  flock  of 
vultures.  Yesterday,  at  seven  in  the  morning,  the 
sheriff  came  and  put  up  the  posters  announcing  the 
sale  of  all  her  effects  for  Saturday  next.  But  that 's 
comparatively  nothing  ;  Madame,  who  is  all  heart, 
wanted  to  oblige  that  monster  of  a  man  —  you 
know?" 

"What  monster?" 

44  Well,  the  one  she  loved,  d'Estourny.  Oh,  he  was 
charming  !    He  gambled,  —  that  was  all." 

44  He  played  with  marked  cards  —  " 

44  Well,  —  and  you,"  said  Europe,  44  what  do  you  do 
at  the  Bourse?  But  let  me  tell  you.  One  day,  to  pre- 
vent d'Estourny  from  blowing  his  brains  out,  as  he 
threatened,  she  pawned  all  her  plate  and  jewels,  which 
were  not  paid  for  ;  and  now  the  creditors  have  found 
it  out,  and  they  threaten  her  with  the  police  court. 
Fancy  what  a  horror  to  see  her  in  the  dock  !    She  is 


Lucien  de  Bubemprê. 


157 


crying  bitterly,  and  wants  to  throw  herself  into  the 
river,  —  and  she  will,  too." 

"If  I  go  to  see  her,"  cried  Nucingen,  "  I  have  n't 
time  to  go  to  the  Bourse  ;  and  I  must  go,  for  I  want 
to  gain  something  for  her.  Try  to  calm  her  ;  tell  her 
I  "11  pay  her  debts,  and  will  see  her  at  four  o'clock. 
But,  Eugénie,  persuade  her  to  love  me  a  little." 

"  A  little  !  I  promise  you  a  great  deal;  for,  don't 
you  see,  monsieur,  there 's  nothing  like  generosity  to 
win  women's  hearts.  I  *ve  told  madame  already  that 
if  she  didn't  love  you  she'd  be  the  lowest  of  woman- 
kind, for  you  were  taking  her  out  of  hell.  As  soon  as 
her  worries  are  all  over,  you  '11  see  how  different  she 
will  be.  Between  ourselves,  that  night  she  cried  so, 
she  dared  not  tell  you  all  this,  —  she  wanted  to  run 
away,  and — " 

"  Run  away  !  "  cried  the  baron,  alarmed  at  the  idea  ; 
"  but  the  Bourse  !  the  Bourse  !  I  must  go,  —  say  that 
I  will  be  with  her  at  four  o'clock." 

Europe  delivered  the  message,  adding,  "  Won't  you 
show  a  little  affection  for  a  poor  old  man  who  is  going 
to  pay  your  debts,  —  every  one  of  them  ?  " 

"  Debts  !  what  debts?  "  cried  Esther. 

"  Those  that  Monsieur  Carlos  incurred  for  madame." 

"But  he  has  had  already  four  hundred  thousand 
francs." 

"  There  's  a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  more  un- 
paid. But  he  has  taken  it  all  in  good  part,  —  the 
baron  has.  He  says  he  is  going  to  get  you  out  of 
here,  and  put  you  in  a  '  little  balace.'  Faith,  you  're 
lucky  !  If  I  were  you,  inasmuch  as  you  hold  that  man 
by  the  safe  end,  I  should  make  him,  after  you  have 


158 


Lucien  de  Rubemprê. 


done  all  Monsieur  Carlos  wants,  give  me  a  bouse  and 
an  income.  Madame  is  certainly  the  prettiest  woman 
I  ever  saw,  and  the  most  engaging  ;  but  ugliness 
comes  fast.  I  was  fresh  and  pretty  myself,  and  look 
at  me  now  !  I  am  twenty-three  years  old,  almost  as 
young  as  madame,  but  I  look  ten  years  older.  One 
illness  will  do  it.  Well,  if  you  have  a  house  in  Paris 
and  an  income,  there 's  no  fear  of  ending  on  the 
streets." 

Esther  was  no  longer  listening  to  Europe-Eugénie- 
Prudence  Servien.  The  will  of  a  man  endowed  with 
the  genius  of  corruption  had  plunged  her  back  into  the 
mud  with  the  same  force  that  he  had  used  in  pulling 
her  out  of  it.  Those  who  know  love  in  its  infinity 
know  that  its  joy  cannot  be  experienced  without  ac- 
cepting its  obligations.  Since  the  scene  with  the  priest 
in  her  squalid  room  in  the  rue  d'Anglade,  Esther  had 
completely  forgotten  her  past  ;  she  had  lived  virtu- 
ously in  thought  and  deed,  cloistered  in  her  love.  To 
meet  with  no  obstacles,  the  all-knowing  corrupter  had 
so  wisely  prepared  his  scheme  that  the  poor  girl,  im- 
pelled by  her  devotion,  had  now  only  to  give  her  consent 
to  knavery  committed,  or  about  to  be  committed.  This 
astuteness  reveals  the  process  by  which  he  had  brought 
Lucien  under  complete  subjection  to  his  will.  To  cre- 
ate terrible  necessities,  to  dig  the  mine,  fill  it  with 
powder,  and  at  the  critical  moment  to  say  to  his  help- 
less accomplice,  tk  Do  this,  or  ruin  comes,"  —  this  was 
the  situation. 

In  her  former  life,  Esther,  born  to  the  peculiar  mo- 
rality of  courtesans,  estimated  her  rivals  by  the  sums 
they  could  persuade  men  to  spend  upon  them.  For- 


Lucien  de  Rubemprê.  159 


tunes  squandered  were  badges  of  honor  to  these 
women.  The  abbé,  counting  upon  this  feature  of 
Esther's  life,  was  not  mistaken.  These  tricks  and 
stratagems,  constantly  employed  not  only  by  the 
women  but  by  the  spendthrifts  themselves,  did  not 
affect  Esther's  mind.  The  girl  felt  only  her  own  deg- 
radation. She  loved  Lucien,  and  was  forced  to  be  the 
mistress  of  ISTucingen  ;  all  lay  there  to  her.  That  the 
false  abbé  took  the  gains,  that  Lucien  built  the  edifice 
of  his  fortunes  with  the  stones  of  her  tomb,  that  Eu- 
rope should  extract  from  the  baron  a  few  hundred 
thousand  francs  by  means  more  or  less  tricky,  did  not 
occupy  the  girl's  mind.  The  cancer  that  was  eating 
into  her  soul  was  something  different.  For  five  years 
she  had  felt  herself  white  as  the  angels.  She  loved, 
and  she  had  not  committed  in  thought  or  deed  a  single 
infidelity  to  that  love,  and  now  it  was  about  to  be 
soiled.  Her  mind  did  not  contrast  the  years  of  her 
beautiful  life  with  the  vileness  of  her  coming  years. 
Neither  reflection  nor  poesy  moved  her.  TVhat  she 
felt  was  a  feeling  indefinable,  but  of  boundless  power  : 
from  white  she  was  becoming  black  ;  from  pure,  im- 
pure ;  from  noble,  ignoble.  Purified  by  her  own  will, 
the  moral  soiling  seemed  to  her  unendurable.  TVhen 
the  baron  threatened  her  with  his  love,  her  thought 
was  to  fling  herself  from  the  window.  Pushed  by  an 
iron  hand,  she  had  gone  to  her  middle  in  infamy  with- 
out having  time  or  power  to  reflect  ;  but  for  the  last 
two  days  reflection  had  come,  and  with  it  a  deadly  cold 
to  her  heart. 

At  Europe's  words,  "ending  on  the  street,"  she 
sprang  up;  violently  exclaiming  :  — 


160 


Lucien  de  Htcbcmprê. 


"  End  on  the  street?   No,  sooner  in  the  Seine!  " 
"In  the  Seine?"  said  Europe.     "And  Monsieur 
Lucien?" 

That  name  sent  Esther  back  into  her  chair,  where  she 
sat  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  a  pattern  of  the  carpet,  the 
furnace  of  her  brain  burning  up  her  tears.  At  four 
o'clock  Nucingen  found  her  plunged  in  that  ocean  of 
reflections  and  resolutions  in  which  the  female  mind  is 
wont  to  float,  and  from  which  women  issue  with  words 
incomprehensible  to  those  who  have  not  navigated  the 
same  waters. 

"  Do  not  look  so  sad,  my  dear,"  said  the  baron,  sit- 
ting down  beside  her.  "You  shall  have  no  debts;  I 
will  arrange  with  Eugenie.  In  a  month  you  shall  leave 
this  apartment  for  a  little  palace.  Oh,  the  pretty  hand  ! 
Give  it  to  me  that  I  may  weigh  it."  Esther  let  him 
take  her  hand  as  a  dog  gives  its  paw.  "  Ah,  you  give 
your  hand,  but  you  will  not  give  your  heart,  and  it  is 
the  heart  I  want  !  " 

This  was  said  in  so  sincere  a  tone  that  Esther  turned 
her  eyes  upon  the  old  man  with  an  expression  of  pity 
that  drove  him  well-nigh  beside  himself.  There  is  no 
greater  comprehension  in  the  world  than  that  of  two 
corresponding  sorrows. 

"  Poor  man  !  "  she  said,  "  he  loves  !  " 

Hearing  these  words,  which  he  misunderstood,  the 
baron  turned  pale,  his  blood  tingled  in  his  veins,  he 
breathed  another  air. 

"  I  love  you  as  much  as  I  love  my  daughter,"  he  said  ; 
"  and  I  feel  here  "  —  laying  his  hand  upon  his  heart  — 
"  that  I  do  not  wish  to  see  you  otherwise  than  happy." 

"  If  you  will  indeed  be  my  father,  I  will  love  you 


Lucien  de  Bubempré. 


161 


well.  I  will  never  leave  you  ;  you  shall  never  see  me 
the  bad  and  venal  and  grasping  woman  that  I  now 
seem  to  be." 

"You  have  had  your  follies,"  replied  the  baron, 
"like  other  pretty  women,  that's  all.  Don't  say  an- 
other word  about  it.  Our  business,  we  men,  is  to 
make  money  for  you.  Be  happy.  I  will,  indeed,  be 
your  father  for  a  few  days  ;  for  I  know  you  must  get 
accustomed  to  my  poor  carcass." 

"Truly?"  she  said,  rising,  and  passing  her  arm 
about  his  neck. 

"  Truly,"  he  answered,  trying  to  put  a  smile  upon 
his  face. 

She  kissed  him  on  the  forehead,  believing  an  impos- 
sible thing,  —  to  be  saved  from  infamy  and  see  Lucien. 
She  caressed  the  banker  with  her  old  fascination,  and 
bewitched  him  so  thoroughly  that  he  promised  to  re- 
main her  father  for  the  next  month,  reflecting  that  a 
month  was  necessary  to  complete  the  purchase  and 
arrangement  of  Falleix's  house  in  the  Place  Saint- 
Georges. 

Once  in  the  street,  however,  on  his  way  home  the 
baron  said  to  himself,  "I  am  a  simpleton."  In  Es- 
ther's presence  he  was  a  child  ;  away  from  her  the 
lynx  revived. 


162 


Lucien  de  Rulempré. 


XL 

ABDICATION. 

Toward  the  end  of  December,  1829,  the  little 
"balace"  of  the  rue  Saint-Georges  was  almost  ready 
for  occupation.  All  the  inventions  of  luxury  before  the 
revolution  of  1830  had  made  the  house  a  type  of  good 
taste.  Grindot,  the  architect,  considered  the  decora- 
tions his  chef-d'œuvre.  The  marble  staircase,  the 
stuccos,  the  stuffs,  the  gilding  soberly  applied,  —  in 
short,  the  smallest  detail,  as  well  as  the  greatest 
effects,  surpassed  all  that  the  Louis  XV.  period  has 
bequeathed  to  Paris. 

The  baron,  driven  to  distraction,  and  still  rebuffed 
by  Esther,  resolved  to  treat  what  he  called  the  affair 
of  his  marriage  by  correspondence,  hoping  to  obtain 
some  written  engagement.  Bankers  believe  in  letters. 
Consequently  the  lynx  rose  early  one  morning  in  Jan- 
uary, and  locked  himself  into  his  study,  where  he  com- 
posed the  following  letter,  written  in  very  good  French, 
for  though  he  pronounced  the  language  abominably,  he 
wrote  it  well  :  — 

Dear  Esther,  —  Flower  of  rny  thoughts,  and  sole  happi- 
ness of  my  life,  when  I  told  you  that  I  would  love  you  as 
my  daughter,  I  deceived  you  and  I  deceived  myself.  1 
wished  to  express  to  you  in  that  way  the  sacredness  of  my 
feelings,  which  resemble  none  that  1  have  ever  heard  of,  first, 
because  I  am  an  old  man,  and  next,  because  I  never  loved 


Lucien  de  Rubemprê. 


163 


before.  I  love  you  so  much  that  if  you  cost  me  my  whole 
fortune  I  should  not  love  you  less.  Be  just  :  most  men 
would  not  have  seen,  as  I  have  done,  an  angel  in  you  ;  but  J 
have  never  cast  one  thought  upon  your  past.  I  love  you  as 
I  love  my  daughter  Augusta,  and  as  I  would  have  loved  my 
wife  had  my  wife  loved  me.  If  love  is  the  only  absolution 
for  an  old  man's  love,  ask  yourself  if  I  am  not  made  to  play 
a  miserable  part.  I  have  made  you  the  joy  and  the  conso- 
lation of  my  old  age.  You  know  well  that  until  my  death 
you  shall  be  made  as  happy  as  a  woman  can  be  ;  and  you 
also  know  that  after  my  death  you  shall  be  rich  enough  to 
make  you  envied  by  other  women.  In  all  the  affairs  of 
business  about  which  I  have  talked  to  you,  your  share  is 
first  deducted  and  placed  to  your  account  with  the  house  of 
Nucingen.  In  a  few  days  you  will  move  to  a  house  which 
will  sooner  or  later  be  your  own  if  it  pleases  you.  When 
there,  will  you  still  receive  me  only  as  your  father,  or  will 
you  make  me  happy  ? 

Forgive  me  if  I  write  to  you  plainly.  When  I  am  near 
you  I  have  no  courage  ;  I  feel  that  you  master  me.  I  do  not 
mean  to  offend  you  ;  I  only  desire  to  tell  you  how  I  suffer 
and  how  cruel  suspense  is  at  my  age.  The  delicacy  of  my 
conduct  is  a  guarantee  of  the  sincerity  of  my  intentions. 
Have  I  acted  like  a  creditor  ?  You  reply  to  my  complaints 
that  my  wishes  threaten  your  life,  and  I  believe  it  when  I 
am  with  you  ;  but  away  from  you  I  fall  into  doubts,  which 
dishonor  us  both.  You  have  seemed  to  me  as  good  and 
candid  as  you  are  beautiful  ;  but  you  take  pains  to  destroy 
that  conviction.  You  tell  me  you  have  a  love  in  your  heart, 
unconquerable,  pitiless  ;  you  will  not  tell  me  for  whom, 
See  what  my  position  is  :  I  am  obliged  to  ask  you  at  the  end 
of  five  months  what  future  you  intend  to  grant  to  me.  I 
must  know  what  rôle  you  mean  me  to  play  on  taking  posses- 
sion of  your  house.  Money  is  nothing  to  me  where  you  are 
concerned.  I  am  not  so  foolish  as  to  make  a  merit  of  this  in 
your  eyes  ;  but  if  my  love  is  limitless  my  fortune  is  not,  and 


164 


Lucien  de  Rubemprê. 


I  would  give  all  for  you.  Yes,  if  by  giving  you  all  I  possess 
I  could,  a  poor  man,  win  your  affection,  I  would  rather  be 
poor  and  loved  by  you,  than  be  rich  and  despised.  You 
have  so  changed  me,  my  dear  Esther,  that  I  am  not  recog- 
nizable. I  paid  ten  thousand  francs  for  a  picture  by  Joseph 
Bridau,  because  you  said  he  was  a  man  of  talent  and  un- 
recognized. I  give  to  every  pauper  I  meet  five  francs  in 
your  name.  Well,  what  does  the  old  man,  who  feels  himself 
your  debtor  when  you  do  him  the  honor  to  accept  his  ser- 
vice, ask  in  return  ?  Only  a  hope.  I  am  ready  to  submit  to 
all  conditions  ;  but  tell  me  at  least  if,  on  the  day  you  take 
possession  of  your  house,  you  will  accept  the  heart  and 
servitude  of  him  who  is  for  the  rest  of  his  days 
Your  servant, 

Frédéric  de  Nucingen. 

On  receiving  this  letter  Esther  hastily  seized  a  sheet 
of  note-paper,  and  wrote  in  large  letters,  covering  the 
whole  page,  a  phrase  from  Scribe's  comedy  (then  in 
vogue),  which  has  since,  to  his  honor,  become  a  pro- 
verb, "  Prenez  mon  ours."  A  quarter  of  an  hour 
later,  after  despatching  the  note,  Esther,  seized  with 
remorse,  wrote  the  following  :  — 

Monsieur  le  baron,  —  Pay  no  attention  to  the  letter 
you  have  just  received  from  me  ;  in  writing  it  I  returned  to 
the  heedless  folly  of  my  youth.  Forgive,  monsieur,  a  poor  girl 
who  ought  to  be  a  slave.  I  never  felt  the  baseness  of  my  lot 
as  I  have  since  the  day  on  which  I  was  delivered  over  to  you. 
You  have  bought  me  and  paid  for  me  ;  I  am  owing  to  you. 
There  is  nothing,  they  say,  so  sacred  as  the  debts  of  dis- 
honor. I  have  not  the  right  to  liquidate  mine  by  throwing 
myself  into  the  Seine.  It  must  be  paid  in  that  awful  money 
which  is  good  on  one  side  only.  You  will  find  me  therefore 
at  your  orders.    I  will  pay  once  for  all  the  sums  that  are 


Lucien  de  Ruhempré. 


165 


mortgaged  upon  me  ;  that  fatal  moment  will  be  the  first  and 
last  and  only  payment.  The  debt  paid,  I  am  free  to  go  out 
of  life.  A  virtuous  woman  has  chances  to  raise  herself  after 
a  fall  ;  but  we,  poor  creatures,  we  fall  too  low.  My  resolu- 
tion is  so  fixed  that  I  beg  you  to  keep  this  letter  as  a  testi- 
mony to  the  cause  of  the  death  of  her  who  will  be  for  one 
day  only 

Your  servant, 

Esther. 

This  letter  despatched,  Esther  again  regretted  it. 
Ten  minutes  later  she  wrote  the  following  :  — 

Forgive  me,  dear  baron  ;  this  is  myself.  I  did  not  mean 
to  mock  you,  nor  to  wound  you;  but  I  wish  to  make  you 
reflect  upon  a  simple  argument.  If  we  can  stay  together  in 
the  relation  of  father  and  daughter,  you  will  have  a  feeble 
pleasure,  but  a  lasting  one  ;  if  you  exact  the  fulfilment  of 
the  contract  you  will  lose  me.  I  will  not  worry  you  with 
further  words.  The  day  on  which  you  choose  pleasure, 
rather  than  happiness,  will  be  without  a  morrow  for  me. 
Your  daughter, 

Esther. 

The  stupidity  of  the  moneyed  man,  though  quasi- 
proverbial,  is  nevertheless  only  relative.  There  are 
faculties  of  the  mind  as  there  are  aptitudes  of  the 
body.  The  dancer  has  his  strength  in  his  feet,  the 
blacksmith  in  his  arms,  the  singer  works  his  throat, 
the  pianist  his  wrists.  A  banker  is  trained  to  contrive 
affairs,  to  study  them,  to  make  interests  act,  just  as 
a  playwright  contrives  situations,  studies  them,  and 
makes  his  personages  act.  Baron  cle  Nucingen  could 
no  more  be  expected  to  perceive  the  situation  than 
mathematicians  can  be  expected  to  have  the  images  of 


166 


Lucien  de  Rubemprê. 


a  poet  in  their  understanding.  Equally  distributed, 
the  vital  human  force  produces  fools  or  mediocrities 
everywhere  ;  unequally  distributed,  it  gives  birth  to 
those  abnormal  natures,  to  which  we  give  the  name  of 
genius^  but  which,  if  they  were  visibly  clear  to  us, 
would  seem  deformities.  The  same  law  rules  the 
body  ;  perfect  beauty  is  almost  always  accompanied 
by  coldness  or  stupidity.  In  the  sphere  of  speculative 
calculation,  a  banker  displays  as  much  mind,  ability, 
shrewdness,  and  faculty,  as  the  ablest  statesman  in 
national  affairs.  If,  outside  of  his  counting-room,  he 
is  remarkable  he  becomes  a  great  man.  Nucingen, 
multiplied  by  the  Prince  de  Ligne,  by  Mazarin,  or  by 
Diderot,  is  an  almost  impossible  human  formula, 
though  it  has  existed  under  the  names  of  Pericles, 
Aristotle,  Voltaire,  and  Napoleon.  Monsieur  de  Nu- 
cingen, being  a  banker,  and  nothing  more,  had  no  fac- 
ulty of  perception  outside  of  his  calculations,  like  other 
bankers  who  believe  only  in  actual  values.  In  the 
matter  of  art,  for  instance,  he  had  the  good  sense  to 
go,  money  in  hand,  to  experts,  —  to  the  best  architect, 
the  best  connoisseur  in  pictures,  in  statues.  But  as 
there  exists  no  expert,  and  no  trustworthy  connoisseur 
in  love,  a  banker  is  terribly  embarrassed  in  managing 
a  woman.  Nucingen,  therefore,  who  was  ill  in  his  bed 
for  a  day  after  receiving  these  letters,  saw  nothing  to 
do  but  what  he  had  already  done,  and  to  trust  that 
time,  the  little  "  balace,"  and  his  unceasing  attentions 
would  bring  Esther  to  reason. 

Under  the  system  of  espionage  in  which  Esther  was 
held,  copies  of  the  poor  girl's  letters  were  carried  by 
Asia  to  the  abbé.    The  anger  of  the  man  was,  like 


Lucien  de  BuhemprS. 


167 


himself,  terrible.  He  came  at  once  in  a  carnage,  with 
the  blinds  down,  to  Esther's  house,  ordering  the  driver 
to  enter  the  court- yard.  He  was  livid  when  he  pre- 
sented himself  before  her;  she  gazed  at  him  for  a 
moment,  and  then,  happening  to  be  on  her  feet,  she 
staggered  to  a  chair,  her  legs  giving  way  beneath  her. 

"What  is  the  matter,  monsieur?"  she  said,  quiver- 
ing in  every  limb. 

"  Leave  us,  Europe,"  he  said  to  the  waiting- woman. 

4  '  Do  you  know  where  you  are  sending  Lucien  ?  "  he 
asked  when  they  were  alone. 

"Where?"  she  said  in  a  feeble  voice,  trying  to  look 
up  at  the  man. 

"  Where  I  come  from,  my  girl." 

Esther  saw  red  as  she  looked  at  him. 

u  To  the  galleys,"  he  added,  in  a  low  voice. 

Esther  closed  her  eyes.  Her  legs  stretched  out  ;  her 
arms  hung  down.  She  turned  white,  and  fainted.  The 
man  rang,  and  Prudence  ran  in. 

"  Bring  her  to,"  he  said,  coldly.  "  I  have  not  done 
yet." 

He  walked  up  and  down  the  salon  while  waiting. 
Presently  Prudence  came  to  ask  him  to  lift  Esther  to 
her  bed.  He  did  so  with  an  ease  that  showed  his 
athletic  strength.  It  needed  the  most  powerful  drugs 
to  bring  the  girl  back  to  the  consciousness  of  her  woes. 
In  about  an  hour  she  was  able  to  listen  to  her  living 
nightmare  as  he  sat  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  fixing  upon 
her  the  terrible  glance  of  his  glittering  eyes  like  streams 
of  molten  lead. 

"My  little  girl,"  he  resumed.  "Lucien  stands  at 
this  moment  between  a  splendid,  honored,  happy,  and 


168 


Lucien  de  Eubcmprê. 


worthy  life  and  the  pool  in  the  river,  where  he  w&b 
about  to  cast  himself  when  I  first  met  him.  The  family 
of  Grandlieu  require  him  to  possess  an  estate  worth  a 
million  before  they  will  obtain  for  him  the  title  of 
marquis,  and  give  him  the  hand  of  that  great  pole 
named  Clotilde.  Thanks  to  you  and  me  Lucien  has 
just  bought  his  maternal  manor,  the  old  castle  of 
Rubempré,  which  did  not  cost  much,  only  thirty  thou- 
sand francs.  But  his  agent,  by  fortunate  negotia- 
tions, has  added  to  it  adjoiniug  property  amounting  to 
a  million  of  francs,  on  which  we  have  paid  three  hun- 
dred thousand  francs  down.  The  castle,  the  costs, 
and  the  premiums  have  absorbed  the  rest.  We  have, 
it  is  true,  another  hundred  thousand  francs  invested, 
which  in  a  few  months  will  have  more  than  doubled. 
But  there  will  still  remain  four  hundred  thousand  francs 
to  be  paid.  In  three  days  Lucien  will  return  from 
Angoulême,  where  he  has  been  to  give  color  to  his 
statement  of  the  source  from  which  the  money  comes, 
for  he  must  not  be  suspected  of  finding  it  under  your 
mattress  —  " 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  she  cried,  casting  her  eyes  upward  with 
exaltation. 

"I  ask  you,  therefore,"  he  continued,  unmoved,  "  is 
this  a  time  to  frighten  away  the  baron  ?  He  fainted 
on  reading  your  second  letter.  You  have  a  fine  style, 
and  I  congratulate  you  on  it.  If  the  baron  had  died 
of  apoplexy,  as  he  might  have  done,  what  would  be- 
come of  us?  When  Lucien  comes  out  of  Saint-Thomas 
d'Aquin  the  son-in-law  of  the  Duc  de  Grandlieu,  if  you 
still  want  to  go  into  the  Seine,  —  well,  my  dear,  I  '11 
take  your  hand  and  we'll  make  the  plunge  together. 


Lucien  de  Rubemprê. 


169 


It  is  one  way  to  end  off  ;  but  reflect  a  little.  Would  n't 
it  be  better  to  live,  and  say  to  yourself  at  every  turn, 
1  This  brilliant  fortune,  this  happy  family  '  ?  —  for  he  '11 
have  children,  children  !  have  you  thought  of  the 
pleasure  of  putting  your  hand  upon  their  little  heads  ?  " 
(Esther  closed  her  eyes  and  quivered  gently.)  "  Well, 
seeing  the  edifice  of  his  happiness,  you  will  be  able  to 
say,  4  It  is  my  work.'  " 

He  made  a  pause,  during  which  these  two  beings 
looked  at  each  other. 

"  That  is  what  I  undertook  to  do  for  his  despairing 
life  when  he  was  about  to  fling  it  into  the  water,"  re- 
sumed the  abbé.  44  Am  I  a  selfish  man?  That  is  how 
we  should  love.  That  is  the  devotion  given  to  kings  ; 
and  I  have  anointed  him  a  king.  They  might  rivet  me 
for  the  rest  of  my  days  to  my  old  chain,  and  I  think  I 
could  be  peaceful  and  happy,  saying  to  myself,  4  He  is 
at  court  ;  lie  is  honored  in  the  world  ;  he  is  prosperous.* 
My  soul  and  my  thought  would  triumph  while  my  car- 
cass was  toiling  at  the  galleys.  You  are  but  a  mis- 
erable woman;  you  love  as  a  woman.  If  ever  they 
discover  under  the  skin  of  the  Abbe  Carlos  the  convict 
I  once  was,  do  you  know  what  I  should  do  rather  than 
compromise  Lucien?"  (Esther  listened  anxiously.) 
44 1  should  die  as  the  negroes  do,  by  swallowing  my 
tongue.  But  you,  with  your  affectations,  are  bringing 
ruin  upon  him.  What  have  I  asked  of  you?  To  put 
on  La  Torpille's  petticoat  for  six  months,  for  six 
weeks,  —  long  enough  to  complete  that  million.  Lu- 
cien will  never  forget  you  ;  men  don't  forget  the  being 
who  is  recalled  to  their  mind  daily  by  their  prosperity. 
Lucien  is  worth  more  than  you.    He  began  by  loving 


170 


Lucien  de  Rubcmprê. 


Coralie  ;  she  died.  Very  good,  but  he  had  n't  the  means 
to  bury  her.  Did  he  do  as  you  did  just  now,  —  faint 
away?  No,  poet  as  he  is,  he  wrote  six  rollicking 
songs,  and  earned  the  money  to  pay  for  her  burial.  I 
have  those  songs  ;  I  know  them  by  heart.  Well,  do 
you  compose  your  songs.  Be  gay,  frolicking,  irre- 
sistible, insatiable  !  You  have  heard  me  ;  don't  oblige 
me  to  say  this  again.    Kiss  papa.  Adieu." 

When,  half  an  hour  later,  Europe  entered  her  mis- 
tress's room  she  found  her  kneeling  before  the  crucifix. 
Having  said  her  last  prayers,  Esther  renounced  her 
beautiful  life,  the  honor  she  had  tried  to  make  for  her- 
self, her  virtue,  her  future,  her  love.    She  rose. 

"  Oh,  madame,  you  will  never  look  like  that  again  !  " 
cried  Prudence  Servien,  startled  at  the  wondrous  beauty 
of  her  mistress. 

She  hastily  turned  the  psyche  so  that  the  girl  might 
see  herself.  The  eyes  still  kept  a  little  of  the  soul 
that  had  gone  to  heaven.  The  Jewish  tones  of  the 
skin  sparkled.  Moist  with  tears  absorbed  by  the  fire 
of  her  prayer,  the  lashes  of  her  eyelids  were  like 
leafage  after  a  summer's  rain,  —  the  sun  of  love  had 
shone  upon  them  for  the  last  time.  The  lips  still 
seemed  to  invoke  the  angels,  from  whom,  perhaps, 
she  had  asked  the  palm  of  martyrdom  as  she  gave 
into  their  hands  her  unstained  life.  She  had  the 
majesty  which  must  have  attended  Mary  Stuart  at  the 
moment  when  she  bade  adieu  to  crown  and  earth  and 
love. 

"  I  wish  that  Lucien  could  have  seen  me  thus,"  she 
whispered  softly,  with  a  smothered  sigh.  uNow,"  sha 
cried  in  a  vibrant  voice,  "blaguons!" 


Lucien  de  Rubemprê. 


171 


Hearing  that  word,  Europe  stood  aghast,  as  though 
she  had  heard  an  angel  out  of  heaven  blaspheme. 

"Well,  why  do  you  look  at  me  as  if  I  had  cloves  in 
my  mouth  instead  of  teeth?  I  am  nothing  now  but 
a  thief,  an  infamous,  unclean  creature,  a  prostitute  ! 
and  I  await  my  lord.  He'll  come  after  the  Bourse. 
I  '11  write  and  tell  him  I  expect  him.  Asia  is  to  serve 
a  dainty  dinner  ;  I  '11  make  a  fool  of  him,  —  that  man. 
Go,  go,  my  girl  ;  and  now  for  folly  —  I  mean  business." 

She  sat  down  and  wrote  the  following  letter  :  — 

My  fkiend,  —  I  have  much  curiosity  to  know  how  many 
times  you  fainted  on  receiving  my  three  notes  two  days  ago. 
But  how  could  I  help  it?  I  was  very  nervous  that  day;  I 
had  been  going  over  in  my  mind  all  the  facts  of  my  deplor- 
able existence.  I  won't  repent  for  having  caused  you  so 
much  grief,  because  it  proves  to  me  that  1  am  really  dear  to 
you.  That 's  how  we  are,  we  poor,  despised  creatures  ;  a 
true  affection  touches  us  more  than  the  money  spent  upon 
us.  As  for  me,  I  feared  I  was  only  the  hook  on  which  you 
hang  your  vanities,  and  it  vexed  me  not  to  be  more  than 
that  to  you.  Yes,  in  spite  of  your  fine  protestations,  I 
thought  you  only  looked  upon  me  as  a  bought  woman. 
Well,  now  you  shall  find  me  a  good  girl,  but  on  condition 
that  you  will  still  obey  me.  If  this  letter  does  you  more 
good  than  your  doctor's  prescription,  come  and  see  me  to- 
day on  your  way  from  the  Bourse.  You  will  find,  under 
arms  and  adorned  with  your  gifts,  the  creature  who  here 
declares  herself,  for  life,  your  machine  of  pleasure. 

Esther. 


172 


Lucien  de  Rubempré. 


XII. 

ESTHER  REAPPEARS  ON  THE  SURFACE  OF  PARIS. 

It  was  exactly  six  years  since  Esther  had  been  to 
a  theatre.  All  Paris  was  at  this  time  rushing  to  the 
Porte-Saint-Martin  to  see  a  play  to  which  the  power  of 
the  actors  had  given  an  expression  of  terrible  reality, — 
"  Richard  d' Arlington."  Like  all  ingenuous  natures, 
Esther  liked  to  tremble  with  horror  as  much  as  she 
liked  to  weep  for  sympathy. 

"  Let  us  go  to  see  Frederick  Lemaître,"  she  said  to 
the  baron  after  dinner.  "I  adore  that  actor,  and  I 'm 
hungry  for  the  theatre." 

44  It  is  a  cruel  drama,"  he  replied,  as  he  ordered  his 
servant  to  take  one  of  the  two  proscenium  boxes  on 
the  first  tier.  When  a  successful  play  fills  a  theatre, 
there  is  always  a  proscenium  box  to  be  hired  ten  min- 
utes before  the  rising  of  the  curtain  ;  the  directors  retain 
it  for  themselves,  unless  at  the  last  moment  some  one 
sends  in  haste  to  obtain  it. 

By  an  accident,  so  natural  that  it  cannot  be  called 
chance,  three  of  Esther's  former  companions  —  Tullia, 
Mariette,  and  Madame  du  Val-Noble  —  were  present 
on  this  occasion.  "Richard  d' Arlington"  was  one  of 
those  wild  successes  (and  well  deserved)  which  are 
never  obtained  out  of  Paris.  While  seeing  this  drama, 
all  the  men  began  to  think  they  had  the  right  to  throw 


Lucien  de  Mubempré. 


173 


their  legitimate  wives  out  of  the  window,  and  all  the 
wives  thought  it  delightful  to  see  themselves  unjustly 
victimized.  A  beautiful  creature  like  Esther,  dressed 
exquisitely,  could  not  display  herself  in  a  proscenium 
box  on  a  crowded  night  with  impunity.  Therefore, 
after  the  end  of  the  second  act,  a  great  commotion 
arose  in  the  box  of  the  two  danseuses  when  the  iden- 
tity of  the  beautiful  stranger  with  La  Torpille  was 
clearly  made  out  by  them. 

"  Ah,  ça!  where  does  she  come  from?"  said  Mari- 
ette to  Madame  du  Val-Noble.  "1  thought  she  had 
gone  under,  —  swamped." 

"Is  it  really  she?  She  seems  to  me  three  dozen 
times  younger,  and  far  more  beautiful  than  six  years 
ago." 

"Perhaps  she  has  been  preserved,  like  Madame 
d'Espard  and  Madame  Zayonchek,  in  ice,"  said  Phi- 
lippe Bridau,  now  called  the  Comte  de  Brambourg, 
laughing. 

This  parvenu  had  brought  the  three  women  to  the 
theatre,  where  they  occupied  a  box  on  the  lower  tier. 

"Is  n't  she  the  rat  you  talked  of  sending  me  to  get 
possession  of  my  uncle  ?  "  said  Philippe  to  Tullia. 

"Precisely,"  replied  Tullia.  "  Du  Bruel,  go  down 
into  the  stalls  and  see  if  it  is  really  she." 

"  What  a  head  she  carries  !  "  exclaimed  Madame  du 
Val-Noble,  using  an  expression  in  the  vocabulary  of 
such  women,  which  means,  "  Look  at  the  airs  she  gives 
herself." 

"  Oh,"  cried  the  Comte  de  Brambourg,  "  she  has  the 
right  to,  for  she  is  with  my  friend  Baron  de  Nucingen  I 
I  '11  go  to  their  box  myself." 


174 


Lucien  de  Ruhemprê. 


44  Perhaps  she's  that  pretended  Joan  of  Arc  who  has 
conquered  Nucingen,  about  whom  we  've  been  bored  to 
death  for  the  last  three  months,"  said  Mariette. 

"Good  evening,  my  dear  baron,"  said  Philippe  Bri- 
dau,  entering  Esther's  box.  "  So  here  you  are,  mar- 
ried to  Mademoiselle  Esther.  Mademoiselle,  l 'm  a 
poor  officer  whom  you  once  consented  to  get  out  of  a 
difficulty  at  Issoudun,  —  Philippe  Bridau." 

"  Don't  know  him,"  said  Esther,  sweeping  the  audi- 
ence with  her  opera-glass. 

"  Mademoiselle,"  interposed  the  baron,  "  is  not 
called  Esther  any  longer.  Her  name  is  now  Madame 
de  Champy,  from  a  little  property  which  I  have  bought 
for  her." 

44  Those  ladies  over  there,"  said  Philippe,  "  are 
complaining  that  she  gives  herself  airs.  If  you  do 
not  choose  to  remember  me,"  he  said  to  Esther,  44  will 
you  deign  to  recognize  Mariette,  Tullia,  and  Madame 
du  Val-Noble?" 

44  If  those  ladies  are  civil  to  me,  I  am  disposed  to  be 
civil  to  them,"  replied  Esther,  shortly. 

44  Civil!  why,  they  are  all  that's  amiable.  They 
have  christened  you  Joan  of  Arc." 

Philippe  Bridau  hastened  back  to  Mariette's  box 
with  his  report. 

44  Let  us  go  and  see  her,"  proposed  Tullia. 

44  Faith,  no!"  cried  Mariette;  44  she 's  too  hand- 
some.   I'll  go  and  see  her  in  her  own  house." 

44 1  think  I 'm  handsome  enough  to  risk  it,"  replied 
Tullia. 

Accordingly,  at  the  next  entr'acte,  Tullia  went  to 
Esther's  box  and  renewed  acquaintance  with  her. 
Esther,  however,  kept  to  generalities. 


Lucien  de  Riibemjprê. 


175 


"  Where  do  y  on  come  from,  dear  child?  "  asked  the 
danseuse,  who  was  bursting  with  curiosity. 

4 4  Oh  !  I  was  five  years  in  a  château  among  the  Alps, 
with  an  Englishman  as  jealous  as  a  tiger,  — a  nabob  ; 
I  called  him  nabot,  for  he  wasn't  bigger  than  a  shrimp. 
And  now  I 've  fallen  to  a  banker,  de  caraïbe  en  syllabe, 
as  Florine  used  to  say.  But  here  I  am  back  in  Paris, 
with  dreams  of  amusement  that  will  make  a  regular, 
carnival  of  life  !  I  '11  keep  open  house.  Ah  !  I  We 
five  years  of  solitude  to  make  up.  Five  years  of  an 
Englishman  is  too  much  ;  they  ought  to  be  played  4  for 
six  weeks  only,'  as  the  posters  say." 

"  Did  the  baron  give  you  that  lace?  " 

44  No,  a  relic  of  the  nabob.  But  fancy  what  ill-luck, 
my  dear  ;  he  was  as  ghastly  as  a  friend's  smile  at  our 
success,  and  I  thought  to  be  sure  he 'd  die  in  six 
months.  Pooh  !  he  proved  to  be  as  rugged  as  the  Alps. 
Always  distrust  men  who  say  they  have  something  the 
matter  with  their  liver.  I  don't  wish  ever  to  hear 
about  livers  again  ;  I 've  too  much  faith  in  proverbs. 
My  nabob  robbed  me  ;  he  died  without  making  a  will, 
and  the  family  turned  me  out  as  if  I  had  the  plague. 
So  the  banker  will  have  to  pay  double.  Ah  !  you  are 
right  to  call  me  Joan  of  Arc  ;  I 've  lost  England,  and 
perhaps  I  '11  die  at  the  stake,  burned  —  " 

"Of  love?"  saidTullia. 

4 'Alive!"  replied  Esther,  dreamily. 

A  few  days  later,  Esther,  who  had  been  driving  in 
the  Champs  Élysées,  met  Madame  du  Val- Noble  in  the 
alley  which  runs  at  right  angles  to  the  drive,  where,  at 
that  time,  people  left  their  carriages  to  walk  up  and 
down  if  the  weather  was  fine  and  dry. 


1T6 


Lucien  de  Buhemprê. 


"  Well,  clear  child,"  said  Esther,  after  they  had 
talked  for  a  while,  44  come  and  see  me  soon.  Nucingen 
c!ines  with  me  to-morrow,  and  I  want  you."  Then  she 
whispered  in  her  ear,  u  I  do  what  I  like  with  him,  for 
he  has  n't  that  !  "  She  put  one  of  her  gloved  nails  un- 
der her  front  teeth,  and  made  the  well-known  gesture, 
which  means,  "  not  a  thing  !  " 

"  You  are  sure  of  him?  " 

"  My  dear,  he  has  so  far  only  paid  my  debts." 

44  How  mean  !  "  cried  the  other. 

44  Oh,"  said  Esther,  "  I  owed  enough  to  scare  the 
minister  of  finance  !  But  now  he  has  promised  me  an 
investment  in  Funds  for  thirty  thousand  francs  a  year 
on  the  day  I  take  possession  of  his  house.  Oh,  he 's 
charming  !  I  have  n't  a  word  to  say  against  him  ; 
he  '11  do  !  Next  week  we  shall  have  the  house-warm- 
ing, and  you  must  come.  In  the  morning  he  is  to  give 
me  the  investment  in  the  Funds,  for  I  could  n't  begin 
to  live  in  such  a  house  as  that  without  an  income. 
I  've  known  poverty,  and  I  don't  mean  ever  to  come 
to  it  again." 

44  You,  who  used  to  say,  4  Fortune  is  I,  myself!' 
how  you  have  changed,"  said  Susanne  du  Val-Noble. 

44  Well,  it  is  living  in  Switzerland  ;  everybody  gets 
miserly  there.  Go  there  yourself,  my  dear;  catch  a 
Swiss.  In  fact,  you  might  marry  one,  for  they  don't 
know  anything  as  yet  about  women  of  our  kind.  But 
anyhow  you  '11  come  back,  as  I  have,  in  love  with  the 
Grand  Livre  and  a  good  income  —  such  a  delicate, 
honest  love  !    Come  and  see  me  soon.  Adieu." 

During  this  time  the  Abbé  Don  Carlos  Herrera  had 
his  passport  vised  at  the  Spanish  embassy,  and  was 


Lucien  de  Mubemprê.  177 


arranging  all  things  at  the  house  on  the  quai  Mala- 
quais  preparatory  to  a  journey  to  Madrid.  For  this 
reason  :  In  a  few  days  Esther  would  remove  to  the 
house  in  the  rue  Saint-Georges,  and  become  possessed 
of  the  investment  in  the  Funds  representing  thirty 
thousand  francs  a  year.  Europe  and  Asia  were 
charged  with  the  duty  of  making  her  sell  out  the  stock 
and  remit  the  proceeds  to  Lucien.  Lucien,  supposed 
to  be  enriched  by  the  liberality  of  his  sister,  could  thus 
pay  off  the  whole  cost  of  the  Rubempré  estate.  Xo 
one  could  find  a  flaw  in  such  conduct.  Esther  alone 
could  be  indiscreet,  and  she,  he  knew,  would  die  sooner 
than  let  the  truth  escape  her.  Clotilde  had  appeared 
in  church  wearing  the  pink  ribbon  tied  round  her  crane- 
like throat,  so  that  the  difficulties  at  the  hôtel  de 
Grandlieu  v;ere  conquered.  Carlos,  by  disappearing 
for  a  time,  would  divert  all  danger  to  Lucien  if  there 
were,  as  he  now  suspected,  malevolent  persons  on  his 
traces.  In  short,  human  prudence  had  foreseen  all. 
There  was  no  weak  spot  ;  no  miscarriage  was  possible. 

The  evening  before  the  day  on  which  the  abbé  was  to 
start,  Lucien  went,  as  usual,  to  the  hôtel  de  Grandlieu. 
The  company  was  numerous.  Before  the  eyes  of  the 
whole  salon  the  duchess  kept  Lucien  beside  her  for 
some  time,  and  showed  him  the  greatest  kindness. 

"  You  have  made  a  little  journey?"  she  said  to  him. 

"Yes,  madame  la  duchesse.  My  sister,  wishing  to 
facilitate  my  marriage,  has  made  great  sacrifices,  and 
so  enabled  me  to  buy  the  estate  of  Rubempré,  and 
greatly  increase  it.'* 

"  Is  there  a  house  upon  it?"  asked  Clotilde,  smiling 
too  eagerly. 

12 


178 


Lucien  de  Buhempré, 


"  There  is  something  that  resembles  an  old  castle, M 
he  replied  ;  "  but  it  would  be  wiser  to  use  the  materi- 
als  in  building  a  modern  house." 

Clotilde's  eyes  flashed  with  happiness  in  addition  to 
the  contentment  on  her  lips. 

"You  are  to  play  a  rubber  to-night  with  my  father," 
she  said  to  him  in  a  low  voice.  "  Before  long  you  will 
certainly  be  invited  to  dinner." 

"Well,  my  clear  monsieur,"  said  the  Duc  du  Grand- 
lieu,  "  you  have  bought,  I  am  told,  the  estate  of 
Rubempré.  I  congratulate  you  ;  it  is  a  conclusive 
answer  to  those  who  declared  you  were  in  debt." 

"  Ah,  monsieur  le  duc,  I  still  owe  half  the  purchase- 
money  !  " 

"  Well,  you  must  marry  a  girl  with  a  fortune.  But 
you  will  hardly  find  one  in  our  faubourg  ;  we  cannot 
afford  to  give  such  dowries  to  our  daughters." 

"  They  have  dowry  enough  in  their  name,"  replied 
Lucien. 

"  We  are  only  three  at  whist  to-night,  Maufrigneuse, 
d'Espard,  and  I,"  said  the  duke;  "will  you  make  the 
fourth,"  he  added,  showing  Lucien  the  whist-table. 

Clotilde  sat  down  beside  her  father  to  watch  his 
play. 

"She  wishes  me  to  take  this  attention  to  myself," 
said  the  duke,  tapping  his  daughter's  hand,  and  look- 
ing toward  Lucien,  who  remained  serious. 

Lucien  was  partner  to  Monsieur  d'Espard,  and  lost 
twenty  louis. 

"  My  dear  mother,"  whispered  Clotilde  to  her  mother, 
"  he  has  had  the  tact  to  lose." 
At  eleven  o'clock,  after  exchanging  a  few  words  of 


Lucien  de  Rubemjprê. 


179 


love  with  Mademoiselle  de  Grandlieu,  Lucien  returned 
home,  and  went  to  bed  thinking  of  the  complete  tri- 
umph he  had  obtained  in  one  short  month  ;  for  there 
was  no  longer  any  doubt  of  his  acceptance  as  Clotilde's 
suitor,  and  their  marriage  before  the  Lent  of  1830. 

The  next  morning,  as  he  was  smoking  his  cigarettes 
after  breakfast  in  company  with  the  abbé,  who  was 
thoughtful  and  seemingly  very  anxious,  the  servant 
announced  Monsieur  de  Saint-Denis,  a  gentleman  who 
desired  to  speak  either  with  the  Abbé  Don  Carlos  Her- 
rera,  or  with  Monsieur  de  Rubempré. 

"Didn't  they  say  below  that  I  had  left  Paris?" 
cried  the  abbé. 

"Yes,  monsieur,"  replied  the  groom. 

"Then  you  must  receive  the  man,"  he  said  to  Lu- 
cien. "Be  careful  not  to  say  a  single  compromising 
word,  nor  let  a  gesture,  even  of  surprise,  escape  you. 
I  am  certain  this  is  the  enemy." 

"  You  shall  hear  me,"  replied  Lucien. 

Carlos  concealed  himself  in  the  adjoining  room,  and 
through  the  crack  he  saw  a  man  well  known  to  him 
enter  the  salon,  although  he  only  fully  recognized  him 
by  his  voice  ;  for  Corentin  —  such  was  the  man's  name 
—  possessed  the  gift  of  transformation.  At  this  mo- 
ment he  resembled  an  old  head-clerk  in  the  Treasury 
department. 

Corentin,  whom  we  have  met  already  in  other 
scenes,  was,  with  a  certain  Peyrade,  at  the  head  of 
the  political  police  of  France.  The  Revolution  had 
no  police  ;  it  needed  none.  Espionage,  then  uni- 
versal, was  called  civism.  The  Directory,  with  a 
rather  better  regulated  government  than  that  of  the 


180 


Lucien  de  Rubempre. 


Committee  of  Public  Safety,  was  obliged  to  reconsti- 
tute a  police,  —  a  work  which  the  First  Consul  com- 
pleted by  the  creation  of  the  prefecture  of  police  and 
the  ministry  of  police.  Corentin,  in  conjunction  with 
Peyrade,  created  the  staff  of  the  uew  department. 
In  1808  the  immense  services  of  these  men  were  re- 
warded by  the  appointment  of  Peyrade  as  commissary- 
general  of  police  at  Antwerp,  while  Corentin  remained 
at  the  head  of  the  police  of  France  both  political  and 
judiciary.  This  position  he  retained  after  and  daring 
the  Restoration.  The  ministry,  made  aware  of  some 
plot  or  machination,  would  say,  41  How  much  do  you 
need  for  such  or  such  results?"  and  Corentin,  after 
careful  estimation,  would  reply,  "  Twenty,  thirty,  forty 
thousand  francs,"  as  the  case  might  be.  Then,  when 
the  word  was  once  given  to  go  to  work,  the  means  and 
the  men  to  be  employed  were  left  to  the  choice  and 
judgment  of  Corentin,  or  the  agents  whom  he  selected. 
This  was  the  system  under  which  the  judiciary  police 
was  conducted  for  the  discover}7  of  crime  in  the  days  of 
Vidocq.  From  1817  to  1822  it  sometimes  happened 
that  Corentin  was  emplo}Ted  to  watch  the  ministry  itself. 
The  ministry,  having  perfect  confidence  in  him,  would 
set  him  to  watch  the  men  who  were  watching  them,  —  a 
circumstance  which  used  to  make  Louis  XVIII.  smile. 
Corentin's  private  office  was  known  only  to  the  min- 
istry of  police,  and  one  or  two  other  persons.  There 
he  received  the  personages  whom  the  ministry  or  the 
king  employed  as  intermediaries  in  serious  affairs  ;  but 
no  agent  or  sub-official  ever  came  there.  He  had  other 
quarters  for  the  transaction  of  his  regular  police-work. 
In  this  secret  room  plans  were  concocted  and  résolu* 


Lucien  de  Mubempré. 


181 


tions  taken  which  would  have  furnished  strange  an- 
nals and  curious  dramas  could  the  walls  have  spoken. 
There,  from  1816  to  1826,  vast  interests  were  analyzed 
and  discussed.  There  were  unfolded,  in  their  germ, 
events  which  later  bore  heavily  on  France.  There 
Corentin  and  his  friend  Peyrade  said  to  each  other 
after  1819,  "If  Louis  XVIII.  does  not  choose  to 
strike  such  or  such  a  blow,  or  get  rid  of  such  a  prince, 
it  is  because  he  execrates  his  brother.  He  wants  to 
bequeath  to  him  a  revolution."  1 

Corentin  had  seen  the  Abbé  Don  Carlos  Herrera  on 
several  occasions,  and  observed  his  glance,  which  could 
never  be  forgotten  ;  also  the  square  structure  of  the 
powerful  shoulders,  and  the  bloating  of  the  face.  On 
the  previous  night,  when  the  abbé  had  been  out  in  the 
disguise  of  a  sheriff's  officer,  Corentin  had  met  him. 
He  was  just  about  to  get  into  a  hackney  coach. 

"Eh,  Monsieur  l'abbé!"  cried  Corentin,  suddenly. 
Carlos  turned  his  head,  saw  Corentin,  whom  he  knew 
but  too  well,  and  jumped  into  the  carriage.  Corentin, 
however,  had  time  to  say,  through  the  door  :  — 

"  That's  all  I  want  to  know.  Quai  Malaquais,"  he 
called  out  to  the  driver,  with  infernal  mischief  in  his 
tone  and  look. 

"  Ha!"  said  Jacques  Collin  to  himself  as  he  drove 
away,  "I'm  sold;  they  are  on  me.  It  is  a  question 
of  being  quicker  than  they  ;  but  I  must  know  first  what 
they  want  of  us." 

1  The  part  omitted  in  this  volume  relates  the  manœuvres  of 
police  and  criminals  in  connection  with  this  plot  of  Jacques 
Collin,  whose  real  identity,  however,  was  not  as  yet  known  to 
the  police. —  Ta. 


182 


Lucien  de  Ruhemprê. 


"  I  have  not  the  honor  of  being  known  to  you,  mon- 
sieur," said  Corentin  to  Lucien  as  he  entered  the  room  ; 
"but  —  " 

"  Excuse  me  for  interrupting  you,  monsieur,"  said 
Lucien  ;  "  but  —  " 

44  But  the  matter  concerns  your  marriage  with  Made- 
moiselle Clotilde  de  Grandlieu,  which  will  not  take 
place,"  said  Corentin,  quickly.  (Lucien  sat  down  and 
said  nothing.)  "  You  are  in  the  power  of  a  man  who 
has  the  means,  the  will,  and  the  intention  of  proving 
to  the  Duc  de  Grandlieu  that  the  estate  of  Rubempré 
will  be  paid  for  by  a  fool  to  whom  you  have  sold  your 
mistress,  Mademoiselle  Esther.  The  minutes  of  the 
proceedings  against  her  for  debt  are  easily  procurable  ; 
also  we  have  means  of  making  d'Estourny  and  his 
agent  Cérizet  speak  out.  The  manœuvres  —  extremely 
clever  ones  —  against  the  Baron  de  Nucingen  will  be 
brought  to  light.  At  this  moment,  however,  the  mat- 
ter can  be  arranged.  Pay  one  hundred  thousand  francs, 
and  you  will  be  left  in  peace.  This  pa}Tment  does  not 
concern  me.  I  am  simply  the  agent  of  those  who  are 
practising  this  blackmail  ;  that  is  all." 

Corentin  might  have  talked  for  an  hour.  Lucien 
smoked  his  cigarettes  with  perfect  equanimity* 

"  Monsieur,"  he  replied,  when  Corentin  paused,  "I 
do  not  wish  to  know  who  you  are,  for  men  who  under- 
take such  commissions  have  no  name,  —  at  any  rate, 
none  for  me.  I  have  allowed  you  to  say  what  you  had 
to  say  unchecked,  for  I  am  in  my  own  house.  You 
seem  to  me  not  devoid  of  sense  ;  therefore  listen  to 
my  dilemma."  (A  pause  ensued,  during  which  Lucien 
met  with  an  icy  glance  the  cat-like  eyes  which  Corentin 


Lucien  de  Bubemjpré. 


183 


fixed  on  him.)  '  '  Either  you  are  relying  on  statements 
that  are  absolutely  false,  and  I  ought  to  take  no  notice 
of  them,  or  you  are  right  in  what  you  state  ;  in  which 
case,  by  giving  you  one  hundred  thousand  francs  I 
also  give  you  the  power  to  ask  me  for  as  many  hun- 
dred thousands  as  you  can  find  Saint-Denises  to  come 
and  ask  for  them.  In  short,  to  put  an  end  in  one  sen- 
tence to  your  very  worthy  negotiation,  you  are  to  know 
that  I,  Lucien  de  Rubempré,  fear  no  man,  inasmuch 
as  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  such  swindling  as  you 
speak  of.  I  may  add  that,  if  the  family  of  Grandlieu 
make  difficulties,  there  are  other  young  women  of  high 
rank  who  are  marriageable  ;  and,  in  any  case,  there  is 
no  offence  to  me  in  remaining  a  bachelor." 
"  If  Monsieur  l'Abbé  Carlos  Herrera  —  " 
"  Monsieur,"  said  Lucien,  interrupting  Corentin, 
st  the  Abbé  Carlos  Herrera  is  at  this  moment  on  the 
road  to  Spain.  He  has  nothing  to  do  with  my  mar- 
riage, nor  anything  to  say  about  my  affairs.  He  is  a 
diplomatist  who  has  kindly  helped  me  for  some  time 
past  with  his  advice  ;  but  he  has  reports  to  make  to 
his  Majesty  the  King  of  Spain,  and  if  you  wish  to 
speak  to  him  you  must  follow  him  to  Madrid." 

"  Monsieur,"  said  Corentin,  curtly,  "  you  will 
never  be  the  husband  of  Mademoiselle  Clotilde  de 
Grandlieu." 

"  So  much  the  worse  for  her,"  replied  Lucien,  impa- 
tiently, urging  Corentin  to  the  door. 

"  Have  you  fully  reflected?"  said  Corentin,  coldly. 

"  Monsieur,  I  recognize  neither  your  right  to  meddle 
in  my  affairs  nor  to  make  me  lose  a  cigarette,"  replied 
Lucien,  flinging  away  his  extinguished  cigarette. 


184 


Lucien  de  RubewijprL 


"Adieu,  monsieur,"  said  Corentin.  "You  will  not 
see  me  again  ;  but  there  will,  assuredly,  come  a  mo- 
ment in  your  life  when  you  would  give  half  your  for- 
tune to  have  had  the  thought  of  recalling  me  from  that 
staircase/' 

In  reply  to  this  threat  the  abbé  made  a  sign  of  cut- 
ting a  man's  throat. 

"  Now,  to  work  !  "  he  cried,  looking  at  Lucien,  who 
had  turned  livid  when  the  terrible  conference  was 
over. 


Lucien  de  Ruhempré. 


185 


XIII. 

THINGS    THAT    MAY  BE  SUFFERED    ON    THE  THRESHOLD 
OF  A  DOOR. 

No  immediate  events  followed  this  scene.  The 
abbe,  ostensibly  gone  to  Spain,  went  really  as  far  as 
Tours.  There  he  sent  his  carriage  on  to  Bordeaux, 
with  a  trusty  subordinate  in  it  to  play  the  part  of  mas- 
ter, and  await  him  in  an  inn  in  that  town.  He  him- 
self returned,  dressed  as  a  commercial  traveller ,  to 
Paris,  where  he  was  secretly  installed  in  the  rue  Tait- 
bout.  whence,  by  means  of  Asia.  Europe,  and  Paccard, 
he  directed  his  machinations,  and  watched  every  one, 
more  especially  Corentin. 

Esther,  meantime,  contiuued  conscientiously  her  rôle 
of  Pompadour  to  the  prince  of  speculation.  She  gave 
two  or  three  little  parties  solely  for  the  purpose  of 
inviting  Lucien  to  the  house.  Lousteau,  Rastignac, 
du  Tillet,  Bixiou,  Nathan,  the  Comte  de  Brambourg, 
—  the  most  dissipated  young  men  of  the  day,  —  were 
its  habitues  ;  and  Esther  finally  accepted,  as  actresses 
in  the  drama  she  was  now  playing,  Tullia,  Florentine, 
Fanny-Beaupre,  Floriue,  and  Madame  du  Val-Noble. 
In  six  weeks  time  Esther  became  the  wittiest,  most 
amusing,  handsomest,  and  most  elegant  of  the  female 
pariahs  who  compose  the  class  to  which  she  now 
belonged.  She  tasted  all  the  enjoyments  of  vanity 
which  seduce  such  women,  but  a  secret  thought  put 


186 


Lucien  de  Rulemjoré. 


her  above  her  caste.  She  kept  in  her  heart  an  image 
of  herself  which  was  at  once  her  shame  and  her  glory. 
The  hour  of  her  abdication  was  ever  present  to  her 
thoughts  ;  she  lived  a  double  life,  holding  her  present 
self  in  pity.  Her  sarcasms  were  the  outward  sign  of 
her  deep  contempt  and  horror  for  the  infamous  and 
odious  rôle  played  by  the  body  in  presence  of  the  soul. 
Spectator  and  actor,  judge  and  criminal,  she  embodied 
that  wonderful  fiction  of  the  Arabian  tales,  in  which  a 
sublime  being  appears  in  a  loathsome  person,  a  type 
which  we  all  know  under  the  name  of  Nebuchadnezzar 
in  that  book  of  books,  the  Bible. 

The  opening  of  the  house  in  the  place  Saiut-Georges 
had  been  postponed  by  her  on  various  pretexts  from 
time  to  time,  but  it  was  now  fixed,  with  its  attendant 
fête,  for  the  day  after  the  first  masked  ball  of  the 
season.  About  a  fortnight  before  the  day,  Esther 
was,  as  usual,  at  the  Opera.  She  had  selected  her 
box  at  a  point  from  which  she  could  command  that  of 
Madame  de  Sérizy,  whom  Lucien  was  in  the  habit  of 
accompanying.  The  poor  girl  put  all  her  happiness  into 
the  power  of  looking  at  him  on  Tuesdays,  Thursdays, 
and  Saturdays,  the  Opera  nights.  On  this  occasion, 
about  half-past  nine  o'clock,  she  saw  him  enter  Ma- 
dame de  Sérizy's  box  with  a  pale  and  anxious  face 
that  was  almost  distorted.  These  signs  of  inward 
wretchedness  were  visible  to  her  alone.  The  knowl- 
edge of  the  face  of  a  man  by  the  woman  who  loves 
him  is  that  of  a  mariner  about  the  ocean. 

"  Good  God!  what  has  happened?"  she  thought; 
"what  distresses  him?  Will  he  want  to  see  that  in- 
fernal man,  —  but  a  guardian-angel  to  him?  Could  I 
get  word  to  Asia,  in  whose  room  he  is  hiding  ?  " 


Lucien  de  Rubempré. 


187 


Full  of  such  painful  thoughts,  she  scarcely  listened 
to  the  music,  nor  to  the  baron,  who  was  holding  a 
hand  of  his  "anchel"  in  both  of  his,  and  talking  to 
her  in  his  Polish- Jewish  jargon  that  was  sometimes 
incomprehensible. 

"Esther,"  he  suddenly  cried,  pushing  away  her  hand 
with  some  ill-humor,  "  you  are  not  listening  to  me  !  " 

"Baron,  you  gabble  love  as  you  do  your  shocking 
French." 

"The  devil!" 

"  I  am  not  in  my  boudoir  ;  I  am  at  the  Opera.  And 
if  you  were  not  one  of  those  iron  safes  made  by  Huret, 
metamorphosed  into  a  man  by  some  trick  of  nature, 
you  would  n't  make  such  a  disturbance  in  the  box  of  a 
woman  who  loves  music.  You  keep  rustling  my  gown 
like  a  cockchafer  on  paper." 

4  '  How  ungrateful  you  are  !  "  cried  the  baron. 

"Ungrateful!"  she  exclaimed.  "What  have  you 
given  me  up  to  this  time  ?  Much  annoyance.  Do  you 
think  I'm  proud  of  you?  You  are  proud  of  me,  I 
know  ;  I  wear  your  buttons  and  your  livery  well 
enough.  You 've  paid  my  debts,  that 's  true  ;  but 
look  how  you  filch  millions.  Ah  !  you  need  n't  make 
faces  at  me  ;  you  told  me  so  yourself.  Prostitute 
and  thief,  we  could  n't  be  better  matched.  You  have 
bought  a  magnificent  cage  for  a  parrot  whom  you  fan- 
cied. Go  and  ask  a  Brazilian  macaw  if  it  owes  grati- 
tude to  a  man  who  keeps  it  in  a  gilded  cage.  Don't 
look  at  me  in  that  way  ;  you  remind  me  of  a  Chinese 
bonze.  You  show  your  red  and  white  macaw  to  all 
Paris,  and  call  out,  6  Is  there  any  one  here  who  pos- 
sesses such  a  fine  poll-parrot?    Just  hear  it  talk! 


183 


Lucien  de  Ruhemprê. 


You  'd  really  think  there  was  sense  in  its  words  ;  when 
du  Tillet  comes  in  it  says,  "  How  do,  old  cheat? "  '  You 
say  you  want  my  heart.  Well,  come,  I  '11  tell  you  a 
way  to  get  it." 

44  Tell  me,  tell  me  !  I  '11  do  anything  for  you  ;  I  like 
to  have  you  blague 1  me  in  this  way." 

"  Be  young,  be  handsome,  be  like  Lucien  de  Ru- 
bempré,  who  is  over  there  in  Madame  de  Sérizy's  box, 
and  you  will  obtain  gratis  what  you  can  never  buy 
with  all  your  millions." 

"  I  shall  go  home,  for  you  are  really  execrable  to- 
night," said  the  lynx,  whose  face  elongated  as  he  went 
to  the  door  and  opened  it. 

u  Here,  Nucingen  !  "  said  Esther,  recalling  him  with 
an  imperious  gesture. 

The  baron  returned  with  a  servility  that  was  almost 
canine. 

44  Do  you  want  me  to  be  nice  to  you  and  pet  you, 
old  monster?  " 

44  You  break  my  heart." 

44  Prake  your  heart!"  she  cried,  imitating  his  ac- 
cent. 44  What  do  you  know  of  a  broken  heart?  But 
I  want  you  to  go  over  there  and  bring  Lucien  here  to 
me  ;  I  wish  to  invite  him  to  Belshazzar's  feast,  and 
make  sure  that  he  comes.  Now,  if  you  succeed  in  that 
little  negotiation,  I  '11  tell  }7ou  I  love  you  so  plainly, 
my  old  Frédéric,  that  you  '11  actually  believe  it." 

1  The  word  blague  cannot  be  translated,  nor  its  meaning  given 
by  any  English  word  or  term.  It  has  a  hundred  meanings  in 
the  French.  It  is  talk,  —  reckless,  witty,  ironical,  chaffing,  boast- 
ful, whimsical,  free  to  license,  the  vehicle  of  which  is  bohemian 
slang.  —  Tr. 


Lucien  de  Bubempré. 


189 


"  You  are  a  witch,"  said  the  baron,  kissing  her 
glove.  "  I 'd  listen  for  an  hour  to  your  insults  for  a 
sweet  word  at  the  end." 

"  Then  obey  me,"  she  said,  "  or — and  she  threat- 
ened him  with  her  finger  as  you  might  a  child. 

The  baron  shook  his  head  like  a  bird  caught  in  a  net 
which  implores  the  hunter's  pity. 

"  Oh  !  what  can  be  the  matter  with  Lucien?"  she 
said  to  herself  when  left  alone,  the  tears  she  had  been 
retaining  dropping  from  her  eyes.  44  Never,  never,  did 
he  look  so  sad  as  that  !  " 

Something  had  indeed  happened  to  Lucien  that  very 
evening.  He  had  gone,  as  usual,  in  his  coupé  to  the 
hôtel  de  Grandlieu.  Reserving  his  saddle-horse  and 
his  cab-horse  for  the  mornings,  he  had,  like  other  fash- 
ionable young  men,  a  coupé  for  the  winter  evenings, 
chosen  from  those  of  the  best  carriage-maker,  and 
drawn  by  fine  horses.  All  things  smiled  upon  him  : 
he  had  dined  three  times  at  the  hôtel  de  Grandlieu  ; 
the  duke  was  charming  to  him  ;  the  Omnibus  shares, 
sold  at  treble  their  cost,  had  enabled  him  to  pay  off 
another  third  on  the  cost  of  his  estate  ;  Clotilde  de 
Grandlieu,  who  now  appeared  in  charming  toilets, 
beamed  joyously  upon  him  when  he  entered  the  salon, 
and  openly  avowed  her  love.  Persons  in  high  places 
talked  of  the  marriage  as  a  probable  thing.  The  Due 
de  Chaulieu,  formerly  ambassador  to  Spain,  and  now 
minister  of  foreign  affairs,  promised  the  Duchesse  de 
Grandlieu  to  ask  the  King  to  bestow  the  title  of  mar- 
quis upon  Monsieur  de  Rubernpré. 

After  dining  with  Madame  de  Sérizy,  Lucien  had 
gone,  as  we  have  said,  to  pay  his  usual  evening  visit 


190 


Lucien  de  Rubemprê. 


at  the  hôtel  de  Grandlieu.  He  arrived  there  ;  his 
coachman  called  for  the  gate,  to  open,  and  he  reached 
the  portico.  As  Lucien  got  out  of  his  coupé  he  saw 
four  or  five  other  carriages  waiting  in  the  court-yard. 
Seeing  Monsieur  de  Rubempré,  one  of  the  footmen 
opened  and  shut  the  door  of  the  peristyle,  and  came 
forward,  standing  with  his  back  to  the  door,  like  a 
soldier  on  guard. 

"His  Grace  is  not  at  home,"  he  said. 

"  Madame  la  duchesse  receives,"  observed  Lucien. 

"  Madame  la  duchesse  is  out,"  replied  the  footman, 
gravely. 

"  Mademoiselle  Clotilde  —  " 

"I  don't  think  that  mademoiselle  would  receive 
monsieur  in  the  absence  of  Madame  la  duchesse." 

"  But  I  see  there  is  company,"  said  Lucien,  con- 
founded. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  the  man,  trying  to  seem  stupid 
and  yet  respectful. 

There  is  nothing  more  terrible  than  etiquette  to  those 
who  admit  it  to  be  the  most  formidable  law  of  social 
life.  Lucien  saw  the  meaning  of  this  scene,  disastrous 
to  him,  —  the  duke  and  duchess  refused  to  receive  him. 
He  felt  the  marrow  of  his  spinal  cord  freezing  in  the 
sections  of  his  vertebral  column  ;  a  cold  sweat  beaded 
his  brow.  This  colloquy  had  taken  place  before  his 
own  valet,  who  held  the  handle  of  the  carriage  door,  in 
doubt  whether  to  close  it.  Lucien  signed  to  him  that 
he  was  going  away  ;  but  as  he  got  into  the  coupé  he 
heard  the  sound  of  persons  coming  out  on  the  portico, 
and  a  servant  called  out,  "The  carriage  of  Monsieur 
le  Duc  de  Chaulieu."    "  Quick!  "  cried  Lucien  to  his 


Lucien  de  Ruhemprê. 


191 


valet,  "to  the  Opera!"  But  in  spite  of  his  haste 
the  unfortunate  man  could  not  avoid  the  Duc  de 
Chaulieu  and  his  son,  the  Duc  de  Rhétoré,  to  whom 
he  was  forced  to  bow,  although  they  did  not  speak 
to  him. 

"  How  can  I  get  word  of  this  disaster  to  Carlos,  to 
my  only  adviser,"  thought  Lucien.  "  What  has  hap- 
pened? What  will  happen?"  His  mind  wandered 
away  into  conjectures. 

Here  is  what  had  happened. 

That  morning,  at  eleven  o'clock,  the  Duc  de  Grand- 
lieu,  on  entering  the  little  salon  where  the  family 
breakfasted,  had  said  to  Clotilde  :  — 

44  My  child,  until  you  hear  more  from  me,  you  must 
not  think  again  of  the  Sieur  de  Rubeinpré." 

Then  he  took  the  duchesse  aside,  and  said  a  few 
words  to  her  in  a  low  voice,  which  made  poor  Clotilde 
turn  pale,  for  her  mother,  on  hearing  them,  showed  the 
utmost  surprise. 

"Jean,"  said  the  duke  to  one  of  the  servants, 
"  carry  this  note  to  the  Duc  de  Chaulieu,  and  ask  him 
to  send  an  answer,  yes  or  no,  by  you.  I  have  invited 
him  to  dine  with  us  to-day,"  he  said  to  his  wife. 

The  breakfast  was  very  dismal  ;  the  duchess  was 
thoughtful,  the  duke  seemed  angry  with  himself,  and 
Clotilde  could  scarcely  retain  her  tears. 

As  soon  as  the  duke  had  left  the  room  the  mother 
said,  tenderly  :  — 

"  My  child,  your  father  is  doing  right  ;  obey  him. 
I  cannot  tell  you,  as  he  did,  not  to  think  of  Lucien. 
No,  I  understand  your  grief  too  well."  (Clotilde 
kissed  her  mothers  hands.)    "But  I  do  say  to  you, 


192 


Lucien  de  Rubempré. 


my  angel,  wait  !  Make  no  move  ;  suffer  in  silence, 
since  you  love  him,  and  trust  to  the  wisdom  and  solici- 
tude of  your  parents.  Women  of  our  station,  my 
child,  are  great  ladies  because  they  know  how  to  do 
their  duty  on  all  occasions,  and  do  it  nobly." 

u  But  what  has  caused  this?"  asked  Clotilde,  as 
white  as  a  lily. 

"  Things  that  cannot  be  told  to  you,  dear  heart," 
replied  the  duchess,  "  for  if  they  are  false,  your  mind 
would  be  uselessly  soiled  ;  if  true,  you  should  be  igno- 
rant of  them." 

At  six  o'clock  the  Duc  de  Chaulieu  entered  the  Due 
de  Grandlieu's  study. 

''Henri,"  said  the  latter,  "I  am  in  such  difficulty 
that  I  can  only  take  counsel  of  an  old  friend  like  you, 
who  knows  the  world  and  deals  with  it.  My  daughter 
Clotilde  loves,  as  you  know,  that  little  Rubempra, 
whom  they  have  almost  persuaded  me  to  accept  as  her 
husband.  I  have  always  been  against  the  marriage  ; 
but  the  fact  is  Madame  de  Grandlieu  has  not  been  able 
to  withstand  Clotilde's  feelings.  When  the  young  man 
bought  his  property,  and  paid  three-fourths  of  the 
purchase-money,  I  felt  I  could  not  make  any  further 
objection.  But  last  night  I  received  an  anonymous 
letter,  in  which  I  am  told  that  the  young  man's  money 
comes  from  an  impure  source,  and  that  he  lied  to  us  in 
saying  that  his  sister  had  given  him  the  funds  neces- 
sary to  the  purchase  of  the  property.  I  am  advised,  in 
the  interests  of  my  daughter's  happiness  and  our  family 
credit,  to  make  inquiries,  and  the  means  are  suggested 
to  me.  But  I  distrust  and  despise  all  anonymous  let- 
ters.   Here,  read  it  yourself." 


Lucien  de  B,ubemprê. 


193 


"  I  share  your  opinion  of  anonymous  letters,  my 
dear  Ferdinand,"  said  the  Duc  de  Chaulieu  when  he 
had  read  the  letter  ;  "  but  while  we  despise  them  it  is 
best  to  use  them.  There  are  cases  in  which  we  must 
treat  such  letters  as  we  do  spies.  Close  your  doors  to 
the  young  man  for  the  present,  and  make  inquiries. 
Your  lawyer  is  Derville,  —  a  man  in  whom  we  all  have 
confidence  ;  he  has  the  secrets  of  many  families,  and 
he  can  be  trusted  with  this.  He  is  an  upright  man,  — 
a  man  of  weight  and  honor  ;  also  he  is  very  shrewd 
and  wary.  But  you  will  want  another  man  with  him, 
more  accustomed  to  detective  duty,  and  we  have  one 
at  the  ministry  of  foreign  affairs  who  is  without  his 
equal  for  discovering  secrets  of  state.  We  often  send 
him  on  missions.  Let  Derville  know  that  he  will  have 
a  lieutenant  in  ferreting  out  this  matter.  Our  spy  is  a 
monsieur,  who  will  present  himself  with  the  cross  of 
the  Legion  of  honor,  and  has  all  the  appearance  of  a 
diplomat.  He  will  do  the  hunting,  and  Derville  can 
assist  in  the  chase  ;  after  which  they  will  be  able  to 
tell  you  if  the  mountain  has  given  birth  to  a  mouse,  or 
whether  you  must  get  rid  of  that  young  Rubempré.  A 
week  ought  to  be  enough  for  the  inquiry." 

"  The  young  man  is  not  marquis  enough  yet  to  take 
offence  at  my  shutting  my  doors  on  him  for  a  week," 
said  the  Duc  de  Grandlieu. 

"  Especially  if  you  give  him  your  daughter  after- 
wards," said  the  minister.  "And  if  the  anonymous 
letter  tells  the  truth,  what  do  you  care  if  he  is  affronted 
or  not?  If  the  statements  are  true,  you  must  send 
Clotilde  to  travel  with  my  daughter-in-law  Madeleine 
who  wants  to  go  to  Italy." 

13 


194 


Lucien  de  Rubcmpré. 


"You  pull  me  out  of  trouble,"  said  the  Duc  de 
Grandlieu.    "  I  don't  kuow  how  to  thank  you." 
"  Wait  for  the  result." 

"  Ah!  "  exclaimed  the  Duc  de  Grandlieu,  "  what  is 
the  name  of  your  man?  I  must  tell  it  to  Derville. 
Send  him  here  at  four  o'clock  to-morrow,  and  I  '11  have 
Derville  on  hand,  and  put  them  in  communication." 

"The  real  name  of  the  man  is,  I  believe,  Corentin 
(a  name  you  never  heard  of)  ;  but  the  gentleman  will 
make  his  appearance  here  under  his  ministerial  name. 
He  calls  himself  Monsieur  de  Saint  something  or 
other.  Ah,  Saint-Ives  !  No,  Saint- Valère, — one  or 
the  other." 

After  this  conference  the  majordomo  of  the  mansion 
received  orders  to  close  the  doors  to  Monsieur  de  Ku- 
bempré,  which,  as  we  have  seen,  was  done. 

Lucien  walked  about  the  foyer  of  the  Opera-house 
like  a  drunken  man.  He  saw  himself  the  talk  of  all 
Paris.  In  the  Duc  de  Rhétoré  he  had,  as  he  knew, 
one  of  those  pitiless  enemies  on  whom  we  are  com- 
pelled to  smile,  unable  to  avenge  ourselves,  because 
their  attacks  are  conformed  to  the  laws  of  society. 
The  Duc  de  Rhétoré  knew  of  the  scene  that  had  just 
taken  place  on  the  portico  of  the  hôtel  de  Grandlieu. 
Lucien  felt  the  absolute  necessity  of  informing  his 
guardian-counsellor,  now  hiding  in  the  rue  Taitbout, 
of  this  sudden  disaster,  yet  he  was  afraid  of  compro- 
mising himself  by  going  to  Esther's  house  where  there 
might  be  company.  He  was  so  beside  himself  that  he 
forgot  that  Esther  was  in  the  Opera-house.  In  the 
midst  of  all  these  terrible  perplexities,  Rastignac, 
knowing  nothing  as  yet  of  what  had  happened,  came 


'  What  is  it,  my  Lucien  ?  '  she  said  in  his  ear 
moment  that  the  door  closed  on  Nucingen." 


Lucien  de  Rubemprê. 


195 


up  to  congratulate  him  on  his  approaching  marriage. 
At  that  instant  Nucingen  approached  him  smiling,  and 
said  :  — 

"  Will  you  do  me  the  pleasure  to  come  and  see 
Madame  de  Champy?  She  wants  to  invite  you  herself 
to  our  house-warming." 

"Willingly,  baron,"  replied  Lucien,  to  whom  the 
banker  appeared  for  a  moment  like  a  saving  angel. 

''Leave  us,"  said  Esther  to  the  baron  when  he  re- 
appeared with  Lucien  ;  "go  and  see  Madame  du 
Val-Noble,  whom  I  see  over  there  in  a  box  on  the 
third  tier." 

'  '  What  is  it,  my  Lucien  ?  "  she  said  in  his  ear  the 
moment  that  the  door  closed  on  Nucingen. 

"  I  am  lost  !  They  have  just  refused  me  entrance  at 
the  hôtel  de  Grandlieu,  under  pretext  that  the  duke 
and  duchess  were  not  at  home,  when  there  were  four 
or  five  carriages  in  the  court-yard." 

"What!  the  marriage  broken  off!"  said  Esther  in 
a  faltering  voice,  for  a  vision  of  paradise  rose  before 
her. 

"  I  don't  yet  know  what  is  on  foot  against  me." 

"  My  Lucien,"  she  said  in  a  voice  adorably  caress- 
ing, "why  be  so  grieved?  You  can  make  a  better 
marriage  later." 

"  Invite  a  number  of  us  to  supper  to-night,  so  that 
I  can  speak  secretly  to  Carlos  —  " 

Lucien  suddenly  stopped,  and  made  a  gesture  of 
despair. 

"  What  is  the  matter?"  said  the  poor  girl,  who  felt 
as  though  she  was  in  a  furnace. 

"Madame  de  Sérizy  sees  me  here!"  cried  Lucien; 


196 


Lucien  de  Rubemjprê. 


"  and  worst  of  all,  the  Duc  de  Rhétoré,  who  witnessed 
my  rebuff,  is  with  her." 

At  that  moment  the  young  duke  was  saying  to  Ma- 
dame de  Sérizy,  "  Why  do  you  let  Lucien  show  himself 
in  the  box  of  Mademoiselle  Esther?  You  take  an  in- 
terest in  him,  and  you  ought  to  warn  him  that  such 
things  are  not  admissible.  He  may  sup  with  her  if  he 
chooses  ;  but,  really,  I  am  no  longer  surprised  that 
the  Grandlieus  have  given  him  up.  I  saw  him  refused 
to-night  at  their  door,  on  the  portico." 

''Those  women  are  very  dangerous,"  said  Madame 
de  Sérizy,  with  her  lorgnette  turned  full  on  Esther's 
box.    "They'll  ruin  him." 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  said  the  duke,  "  instead  of  costing  him 
money,  they  would  give  it  to  him  if  he  needed  it.  All 
women  run  after  him." 

"  Well,"  said  Esther,  "  come  to  supper  at  midnight, 
and  bring  Blondet  and  Rastignac.  Have  two  amusing 
men  at  any  rate,  and  don't  let  us  be  more  than  nine." 

When  Lucien  returned  to  Madame  de  Sérizy's  box, 
instead  of  turning  her  face  to  him  and  smiling,  and 
drawing  back  her  dress  to  make  room  for  him,  she 
continued  to  gaze  at  the  audience  through  her  opera- 
glass  ;  but  Lucien  saw  by  the  trembling  of  the  lor- 
gnette that  the  countess  was  angrily  agitated.  Never- 
theless, he  walked  down  to  the  front  of  the  box,  and 
seated  himself  in  the  other  corner  of  it,  leaving  a 
little  space  between  Madame  de  Sérizy  and  himself. 
He  leaned  over  the  edge  of  the  box,  with  his  elbow  on 
the  cushion,  and  his  chin  in  his  gloved  hand.  Then  he 
turned  to  a  three-quarter  position,  and  waited  to  be 
addressed.   By  the  middle  of  the  third  act  the  countess 


Lucien  de  Hubemjorê.  197 

had  not  only  not  spoken,  but  she  had  not  even  looked 
at  him. 

"I  don't  know,"  she  said  at  last,  "why  you  are 
here;  your  proper  place  is  in  Mademoiselle  Esther's 
box." 

"  I  am  going  there,'7  said  Lucien,  who  rose  and  left 
the  box  without  even  glancing  at  the  countess. 


198 


Lucien  de  Bubempré, 


XIV. 

ONE  OF  CORENTIN'S  MANY  MOUSE-TRAPS. 

Corentin,  coming  in  from  his  country-house  at 
Passy,  presented  himself  before  the  Duc  de  Grandlieu 
on  the  following  day.  In  a  buttonhole  of  his  black 
coat  was  the  ribbon  of  the  Legion  of  honor.  He  had 
made  himself  the  face  of  a  little  old  man,  with  pow- 
dered hair,  much  wrinkled,  and  very  wan.  His  eyes 
were  hidden  by  tortoise-shell  spectacles.  He  had  the 
air  and  manner  of  the  head-clerk  in  some  government 
office.  When  he  had  given  his  name  (Monsieur  de 
Saint-Denis)  he  was  conducted  to  the  duke's  study, 
where  he  found  Derville  reading  the  letter  he  had  dic- 
tated himself  to  one  of  his  own  agents,  whose  business 
it  was  to  write  the  office  letters. 

The  duke  took  Corentin  apart  to  explain  all  that 
Corentin  knew.  Monsieur  de  Saint-Denis  listened 
coldly  and  respectfully,  amusing  himself  by  studying 
this  great  seigneur,  penetrating  to  the  man  beneath 
the  velvet,  and  turning  inside  out  to  his  own  mind  the 
being  whose  sole  occupation  in  life  was,  then  and  al- 
ways, whist  and  the  contemplation  of  the  family  of 
Grandlieu.  Great  seigneurs  are  so  naïve  and  simple- 
minded  with  their  inferiors  that  Corentin  had  not 
many  questions  to  put  to  the  duke  to  elicit  his 
superciliousness. 

"  It  you  will  take  my  advice,  monsieur,"  Corentin 


Lucien  de  Ruhemjprë. 


199 


said  to  Derville,  after  being  duly  presented  to  him, 
44  we  had  better  leave  to-night  for  Angoulême  by  the 
Bordeaux  diligence,  which  goes  quite  as  fast  as  the  mail. 
Six  hours  will  get  us  all  the  information  that  Monsieur 
le  duc  requires.  Did  I  understand  your  Grace  to  say 
that  it  would  suffice  to  ascertain  whether  the  sister  and 
brother-in-law  of  Monsieur  de  Rubempré  had  been  able 
to  give  him  twelve  hundred  thousand  francs?"  he 
added,  looking  at  the  duke. 

"You  have  understood  me  perfectly,"  replied  the 
peer. 

44  We  can  be  back  here  in  four  days,"  said  Corentin, 
turning  to  Derville.  "  Not  so  long  an  absence  that 
the  affairs  of  either  will  suffer." 

"  That  was  the  only  objection  I  made  to  his  Grace," 
said  Derville.  "  It  is  four  o'clock  ;  I  will  return  home 
to  say  a  word  to  my  head-clerk  and  pack  my  travelling- 
bag,  and  after  dinner  I  will  be  at  —  But  are  we  sure 
of  places?"  he  said  to  Monsieur  Saint-Denis,  inter- 
rupting himself. 

44 1  '11  answer  for  that,"  said  Corentin.  44  Be  in  the 
court-yard  of  the  Messageries  du  Grand-Bureau  at  eight 
o'clock.  If  there  are  no  places  I  shall  make  some  ;  for 
that  is  how  monseigneur  the  Duc  de  Grandlieu  must 
be  served." 

44  Messieurs,"  said  the  duke,  with  much  grace,  44 1  do 
not  thank  you  now." 

Corentin  and  the  lawyer,  taking  that  speech  as  their 
dismissal,  bowed  and  went  away.  At  half-past  eight 
o'clock  Monsieur  de  Saint-Denis  and  Derville,  seated 
in  the  coupé  of  the  diligence  to  Bordeaux,  were  ob- 
serving each  other  in  silence  as  they  left  Paris.  The 


200 


Lucien  de  Rubemprê. 


next  morning,  between  Orléans  and  Tours,  Derville, 
who  was  bored,  seemed  disposed  to  talk,  and  Corentin 
deigned  to  amuse  him,  keeping  at  the  same  time  his  dis- 
tance ;  he  allowed  the  lawyer  to  think  that  he  belonged 
to  the  diplomatic  body,  and  expected  to  be  made  a 
consul-general  by  the  influence  of  the  Duc  de  Grand- 
lieu.  Two  days  after  their  departure  from  Paris, 
Corentin  and  Derville  stopped  at  Mansle,  much  to  the 
astonishment  of  the  lawyer,  who  expected  to  go  to 
Angoulême. 

"  We  shall  get  more  accurate  information  about 
Madame  Séchard  in  this  little  town  than  in  Angou- 
lême," said  Corentin. 

44  Do  you  know  her?"  asked  Derville,  surprised  to 
find  his  companion  so  well  informed. 

"No,  but  I  made  the  conductor  talk,  finding  that 
he  came  from  Angoulême.  He  tells  me  that  Madame 
Séchard  lives  at  Marsac,  which  is  only  three  miles  from 
Mansle  ;  and  I  think  we  shall  be  able  to  get  at  the 
truth  here  rather  than  in  Angoulême." 

"Well,  after  all,"  thought  Derville,  "I  am  only 
employed,  as  the  duke  told  me,  to  witness  the  inqui- 
ries made  by  this  confidential  man  of  his." 

The  inn  at  Mansle,  called  "  La  Belle-Étoile,"  had 
for  its  landlord  one  of  those  fat,  gross  men,  whom  we 
hardly  expect  to  see  alive  on  our  return,  but  who  are 
still,  ten  years  later,  on  the  threshold  of  their  door, 
with  the  same  amount  of  flesh,  the  same  cotton  night- 
cap, the  same  apron,  the  same  knife,  the  same  greasy 
hair,  the  same  triple  chin,  —  landlords  who  are  stereo- 
typed in  all  romance,  from  the  immortal  Cervantes  to 
the  immortal  Walter  Scott.    Always  boasting  of  their 


Lucien  de  Rubemprê. 


201 


kitchen  ;  always  having  everything  that  you  want  to 
feed  you,  —  promises  which  culminate  in  an  ema- 
ciated chicken  and  vegetables  cooked  with  rancid 
butter.  Each  and  all  vaunt  their  fine  wines,  and 
force  you  to  drink  the  vin  du  pays.  But,  from  his 
youth  up,  Corentin  had  learned  to  extract  from  an 
innkeeper  more  essential  things  than  doubtful  dishes 
and  apocryphal  wines.  He  accordingly  gave  himself 
out  for  a  man  very  easy  to  please,  who  trusted  impli- 
citly to  the  best  cook  at  Mansle,  as  he  remarked  to  the 
fat  landlord. 

"  I  have  no  difficulty  in  being  the  best,  for  I'm  the 
only  one,"  said  the  host. 

"  Serve  us  in  a  side  room,"  said  Corentin,  winking 
at  Derville,  "  and  above  all,  don't  be  afraid  of  setting 
fire  to  your  chimney  ;  we  want  to  get  the  numbness  out 
of  our  limbs." 

"  It  was  n't  hot  in  the  coupé,"  remarked  Derville. 

"  How  far  is  it  from  here  to  Marsac?  "  asked  Coren- 
tin, addressing  the  innkeeper's  wife,  who  descended 
from  the  upper  regions  on  hearing  that  the  diligence 
had  unloaded  two  travellers  intending  to  sleep  at  the 
inn. 

"  Monsieur,  are  you  going  to  Marsac?  "  inquired  the 
hostess. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  replied,  shortly.  "Is  it  far 
from  here  to  Marsac?"  he  asked  again,  giving  the 
woman  time  to  notice  the  red  ribbon  in  his  buttonhole. 

"  If  you  drive,  it  takes  a  short  half-hour,"  she 
said. 

"  Do  you  think  that  Monsieur  and  Madame  Séchard 
are  there  in  winter  ?  " 


202 


Lucien  de  BubemprS. 


"  Of  course,  — they  live  there  all  the  year  round." 

44  It  is  now  five  o'clock.  Shall  we  be  likely  to  find 
them  still  up  at  nine  ?  " 

44  Oh,  yes,  till  ten  o'clock,  certainly  !  They  have 
company  every  evening,  —  the  curé  and  Monsieur 
Marron,  the  doctor." 

"They  are  very  worthy  people,  are  they  not?" 
asked  Derville. 

4 4  Oh,  monsieur,  yes,  the  very  cream  !  "  replied  the 
innkeeper's  wife,  —  44  good,  upright  people,  not  ambi- 
tious, no  !  Monsieur  Séchard,  though  he  has  enough 
to  live  on  comfortably,  might  have  had  millions,  so 
they  say,  if  he  had  n't  let  himself  be  robbed  of  an 
invention  he  made  about  paper-making  ;  the  Cointet 
Brothers  profited  by  that." 

44  Ah,  yes,  the  Cointet  Brothers  !  "  said  Corentin. 

44  Hold  your  tongue,  wife!"  said  the  landlord. 
44  What  do  these  gentlemen  care  whether  Monsieur 
Séchard  got  his  patent  or  not  ;  they  are  not  paper- 
dealers.  If  you  intend  to  pass  the  night  with  me  at 
La  Belle-Etoile,"  said  the  man,  addressing  the  travel- 
lers, 44  here  's  the  book  in  which  I  will  ask  you  to  write 
your  names.  We  have  a  constable  at  Mansle  who  has 
nothing  to  do,  and  spends  his  time  plaguing  us." 

44  The  devil  !  I  thought  the  Séchards  were  very 
rich,"  said  Corentin,  while  Derville  wrote  their  names 
and  his  own  description  as  barrister  to  the  Civil  Court 
of  the  Seine. 

44  Some  folks  do  say  they  are  millionnaires,"  replied 
the  landlord;  4  4  but  to  stop  tongues  from  wagging  is 
like  trying  to  keep  the  river  from  running.  Père  Sé- 
chard  left  two  hundred  thousand  in  lands,  so. they  say; 


4 

Lucien  de  fiuhempré.  203 

and  that 's  pretty  good  for  a  man  who  began  as  a 
workman.  Perhaps  he  had  as  much  more  in  savings  ; 
for  he  ended  in  getting  an  income  of  ten  or  twelve 
thousand  francs  from  his  property,  and  it  is  not  to  be 
supposed  he  was  such  a  fool  as  to  neglect  to  put  his 
savings  out  at  interest  as  he  made  them.  But  if  he 
did,  as  some  say  he  did,  dabble  in  usury,  three  hun- 
dred thousand  francs  was  as  much  as  he  ever  handled, 
and  that  ain't  a  million.  I  wish  I  had  the  difference 
between  them,  and  I  would  n't  be  here  now  keeping 
the  Belle-Étoile." 

41  Is  it  possible?  "  said  Corentin.  "  I  was  told  that 
Monsieur  David  Séchard  and  wife  had  fully  two  or 
three  millions." 

''Goodness!"  cried  the  wife,  "that's  all  they  say 
the  Cointets  have  after  robbing  him  of  his  invention, 
for  which  they  only  paid  him  twenty  thousand  francs. 
Where  do  you  suppose  such  honest  people  as  the  Sé- 
chards  could  get  a  million?  They  were  very  poor  in 
the  lifetime  of  the  old  man.  Without  Kolb,  who  is 
now  their  bailiff,  and  Madame  Kolb,  who  are  both 
devoted  to  them,  they  would  hardly  have  had  bread  to 
eat.  What  had  they  when  they  went  to  live  at  La 
Verberie?    Three  thousand  francs  a  year  at  most." 

Corentin  took  Der ville  aside. 

"  In  vino  Veritas,  —  truth  in  taverns.  For  my  part, 
I  consider  an  inn  the  best  civil  court  in  the  land  ;  a 
notary  does  n't  know  more  of  what  goes  on  in  a  small 
place  than  a  landlord.  Just  see  how  we  are  supposed 
to  know  4  the  Cointets,'  and  'Kolb,'  etc.  A  tavern^ 
keeper  is  the  living  record  of  all  adventures  ;  he  's  the 
police  himself  without  knowing  it.    The  government 


204 


Lucien  de  Hiibem'pré. 


does  n't  need  more  than  two  hundred  detectives  at  the 
most  in  a  country  like  France,  where  there  are  ten 
million  honest  spies.  We  are  not  obliged,  however,  to 
trust  this  report,  though  they  wrould  be  certain  to 
know  in  this  little  place  if  twelve  hundred  thousand 
francs  had  been  taken  out  of  it  to  pay  for  the  Rubem- 
pré  estate.  We  need  not  stay  here  long  —  " 
"  I  hope  not,"  said  Derville. 

"For  this  reason,"  continued  Corentin  :  ''I  have 
found  the  most  natural  way  in  the  world  to  get  the 
truth  from  Séchard  and  his  wife.  I  rely  on  you  to 
support  my  little  scheme  with  the  weight  of  your  au- 
thority as  notary,  for  it  will  bring  forth  a  clear  and 
succinct  account  of  their  fortune.  After  dinner  we 
shall  drive  over  to  see  Monsieur  Séchard,"'  he  said  to 
the  hostess.  "Be  sure  that  our  beds  are  prepared; 
we  require  two  rooms." 

"Dinner  is  ready,  messieurs,"  said  the  landlord. 

"  Where  the  devil  could  that  young  man  have  got 
his  money?"  said  Derville  to  Corentin,  as  they  took 
their  places  at  table.  "Can  that  anonymous  letter 
be  true  ?  Do  you  suppose  it  was  the  money  of  some 
mistress  ?  " 

"Ah,  that's  the  subject  of  another  inquiry  !  "  said 
Corentin.  "  Lucien  de  Rubempré  lives,  so  the  Due 
de  Chaulieu  tells  me,  with  a  converted  Jewess,  who 
passes  for  being  Dutch,  and  calls  herself  Esther  van 
Bogseck." 

"  What  a  singular  coincidence,"  said  the  lawyer. 
"I  am  searching  for  the  heiress  of  a  Dutchman  named 
Gobseck  ;  it  is  the  same  name  with  a  transfer  of 
consonants." 


Lucien  de  Rubemprê. 


205 


"  Well,"  said  Corentin,  "you  shall  have  full  infor- 
mation as  to  the  relationship  on  my  return  to  Paris." 

An  hour  later  the  two  emissaries  of  the  house  of 
Grandlieu  started  for  La  Verberie,  the  home  of  Mon- 
sieur and  Madame  David  Sechard. 

Never  had  Lucien  experienced  such  emotion  as  that 
which  took  possession  of  his  soul  at  La  Verberie  when 
comparing  his  fate  with  that  of  his  early  friend  and 
brother-in-law.  The  two  Parisians  were  now  to  see 
the  same  scene  as  that  which,  a  few  days  earlier,  had 
so  affected  Lucien.  In  the  first  place,  the  whole  at- 
mosphere was  that  of  peace  and  plenty.  At  the  hour 
when  the  two  strangers  arrived,  the  salon  of  La  Ver- 
berie  was  occupied  by  a  little  coterie  of  four  persons,  — 
namely,  the  rector  of  Marsac, —  a  young  priest,  twenty- 
five  years  of  age,  who,  at  Madame  Séchard' s  earnest 
request,  was  the  tutor  of  her  only  son  Lucien  ;  the 
doctor  of  the  neighborhood,  Monsieur  Marron  ;  the 
mayor  of  the  township  ;  and  an  old  colonel,  retired 
from  service,  who  cultivated  roses  on  a  small  estate 
situated  opposite  to  La  Verberie  on  the  other  side  of 
the  road.  Every  evening  in  winter  these  persons  came 
to  play  an  innocent  boston,  at  a  farthing  a  stake,  and 
obtain  the  newspapers,  or  return  those  they  had  read. 
When  Monsieur  and  Madame  Sechard  bought  La  Ver- 
berie, —  a  pretty  house,  built  of  tufa,  and  roofed  with 
slate,  —  its  only  pleasure-ground  was  a  small  garden 
of  about  two  acres.  With  time,  and  with  the  fruits  of 
her  economy,  the  beautiful  Madame  Sechard  had  ex- 
tended the  garden  to  a  little  water-course  by  sacrificing 
a  vineyard,  which  she  bought  and  transformed  into 
lawn   and   shrubberies.     At  the  present  time,  La 


206 


Lucien  de  Ruhemprê. 


Verberie,  surrounded  by  a  park  of  twenty  acres,  in- 
closed with  walls,  was  considered  the  most  important 
estate  in  the  neighborhood.  The  house  of  the  late 
Séchard  and  its  dependencies  was  only  used  for  the 
working  of  some  twenty  acres  of  vineyard,  left  by  the 
old  man,  besides  six  farms,  each  bringing  in  about  six 
thousand  francs,  of  ten  acres  apiece,  situated  on  the 
other  side  of  the  water-course,  exactly  opposite  to  the 
park  of  La  Verberie. 

Already  the  country  people  were  calling  La  Verberie 
"the  château,"  and  Eve  Séchard  was  usually  spoken 
of  as  "la  dame  de  Marsac."  In  satisfying  his  social 
vanity  by  calling  his  sister  Madame  Séchard  de  Mar- 
sac,  Lucien  had  only  done  as  the  peasants  and  the 
vine-dressers  were  already  doing.  Courtois,  the  pro- 
prietor of  a  mill  picturesquely  situated  at  a  few  stones' 
throw  from  La  Verberie,  was,  they  said,  then  in  treaty 
for  the  sale  of  this  mill  to  Madame  Séchard.  This 
ourchase  would  give  to  La  Verberie  its  finishing  touch 
as  an  estate  of  the  first  class  in  the  department.  Ma- 
dame Séchard,  who  did  much  good,  and  did  it  with  as 
much  discernment  as  liberality,  was  loved  and  re- 
spected. Her  beauty,  now  become  magnificent,  had 
reached  its  highest  development.  Though  nearly 
twenty-six  years  of  age,  she  had  kept  the  freshness 
of  youth,  thanks  to  the  repose  and  the  abundance 
afforded  by  country  life.  Always  in  love  with  her 
husband,  she  respected  in  him  a  man  of  talent,  suffi- 
ciently modest  to  renounce  the  loud  clamor  of  fame. 
To  describe  her  fully,  it  may  suffice  to  say  that,  in  all 
her  married  life,  she  had  never  had  one  heart-throb 
prompted  by  aught  else  than  her  husband  and  children. 


Lucien  de  Rubemprê. 


207 


In  six  years  Lucien  had  seen  his  sister  three  times, 
and  he  had  only  written  her  at  the  most  six  letters. 
His  first  visit  to  La  Verberie  was  at  the  time  of  his 
mother's  death,  and  the  last,  which  had  just  taken 
place,  was  made  to  ask  the  favor  of  the  lie  so  neces- 
sary to  his  present  circumstances.  It  led  to  a  some- 
what painful  scene  between  himself  and  Monsieur  and 
Madame  Séchard,  who  were  left  with  grave  and  dis- 
tressing doubts  as  to  their  brother's  conduct. 

The  interior  of  the  house,  transformed  like  the  ex- 
terior, but  without  luxury,  was  comfortable.  This  will 
be  seen  by  a  rapid  glance  cast  into  the  room  where  the 
company  were  now  assembled.  A  pretty  Aubusson 
carpet  on  the  floor,  the  walls  hung  with  twilled  gray 
cotton,  their  panels  defined  by  a  cord  of  green  silk, 
woodwork  stained  to  resemble  ironwood,  furniture  of 
mahogany,  covered  with  gray  cashmere  with  green 
trimmings,  plant-stands  filled  with  flowers  in  spite  of 
the  season,  —  all  this  gave  an  aspect  that  was  soft  and 
pleasing  to  the  eye.  The  window  curtains  of  green 
silk,  the  drapery  of  the  mantel-shelf,  and  the  frame  of 
the  mirrors,  were  free  from  the  bad  taste  which  spoils 
so  much  in  the  provinces.  Even  the  appropriate  and 
elegant  minor  details  were  restful  to  the  soul  and  to 
the  eye  by  the  sort  of  poesy  which  a  loving  and  intelli- 
gent woman  can  and  should  introduce  into  her  home. 

Madame  Séchard,  still  in  mourning  for  her  mother, 
was  busy  at  the  corner  of  the  fire  with  a  piece  of  em- 
broidery, assisted  by  Madame  Kolb,  the  housekeeper, 
on  whom  she  relied  for  all  the  household  details.  As 
the  cabriolet  containing  the  two  strangers  reached  the 
first  houses  in  Marsac,  the  usual  company  at  La  Ver- 


208 


Lucien  de  Rtibempré. 


berie  was  increased  by  the  arrival  of  Courtois,  the 
miller,  now  a  widower,  who  wanted  to  retire  from 
business,  and  hoped  to  sell  his  property  to  the  owners 
of  La  Verberie,  and  sell  it  ivell,  because  Madame  Eve 
seemed  to  want  it  especially,  and  Courtois  knew  why. 

4 4  Here  's  a  cabriolet  stopping  at  the  door,"  said 
Courtois,  hearing  the  sound;  "by  the  rattle  I  should 
say  it  was  a  country  vehicle." 

' 4  Very  likely  Postel  and  his  wife,  who  have  driven 
over  to  see  us,"  said  the  doctor. 

"No,"  said  Courtois,  "for  the  vehicle  comes  from 
the  road  to  Mansle." 

"  Matame,"  said  Kolb,  a  tall  and  stout  Alsacian, 
opening  the  door  of  the  salon,  "  here  's  a  lawyer  from 
Paris  who  wants  to  speak  to  monsieur." 

"  A  lawyer  !  "  cried  Séchard,  "  the  mere  word  gives 
me  the  colic." 

"Thank  you!"  said  the  mayor  of  Marsac,  named 
Cachan,  a  lawyer  of  twenty  years'  standing  in  Angou- 
lerne,  who  was  formerly  employed  to  sue  David 
Séchard. 

44  My  poor  David  will  never  change;  he'll  always 
be  absent-minded,"  said  Eve,  smiling. 

44  A  lawyer  from  Paris?  "  said  Courtois.  44  Then  you 
have  business  there?" 

44  No,"  said  Eve. 

44  But  you  have  a  brother  there,"  said  Courtois. 

44  Take  care  it  is  n't  about  your  inheritance  from 
Père  Séchard,"  said  Cachan;  44  many  of  his  doings 
were  very  shady,  the  old  man  !  " 

As  they  entered,  Corentin  and  Derville,  after  bow- 
ing to  the  company  and  giving  their  names,  asked 


Lucien  de  Rubempré. 


209 


to  speak  to  Madame  Séchard  and  her  husband  in 
private. 

"  Certainly,"  replied  Séchard  ;  "  but  is  it  on 
business?  " 

"  Solely  about  your  inheritance  from  your  father," 
replied  Corentin. 

"Then  you  will  please  permit  Monsieur  le  maire, 
who  was  formerly  a  lawyer  in  Angoulême,  to  be  pres- 
ent at  the  conference." 

"  Are  you  Monsieur  Derville?  "  asked  Cachan,  look- 
ing at  Corentin. 

"No,  monsieur:  this  is  he,"  replied  Corentin,  mo- 
tioning to  the  lawyer,  who  bowed. 

"  We  are  here  as  one  family,"  said  Séchard,  "  and 
we  have  nothing  to  conceal  from  our  friends  ;  there- 
fore we  need  not  go  into  my  study,  where  there  is  no 
fire.    Our  life  is  open  to  the  daylight." 

"That  of  your  father,  monsieur,"  said  Corentin, 
"  had  certain  secrets  in  it  which  you  might  not  like 
made  known  —  " 

"Is  it  anything  to  make  us  blush?"  asked  Eve  in 
alarm. 

"Oh,  no;  only  a  youthful  peccadillo."  replied  Co- 
rentin, setting  with  much  care  one  of  his  thousand  and 
one  little  mouse-traps.  "  Your  father  gave  you  an 
elder  brother." 

"Ha!  the  old  bear!"  cried  Courtois.  "He  never 
loved  you,  Monsieur  Séchard,  and  he  kept  this  to  come 
down  upon  you  after  his  death,  the  dissembling  old 
fellow  !  I  know  now  what  he  meant  when  he  used  to 
say  to  me,  '  You  ?11  see  what  you  will  see  when  I 'm 
dead  and  gone.'  " 

14 


210 


Lucien  de  Bubemjprè. 


"  Oh,  don't  be  uueasy,  monsieur!  "  said  Corentin  to 
Séehard,  studying  Eve  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye. 

"  A  brother  !  "  cried  the  doctor,  "  why,  there 's  your 
inheritance  divided  in  halves  !  " 

Derville  pretended  to  be  looking  at  the  fine  engrav- 
ings, before  lettering,  which  were  hanging  on  the 
walls. 

"  Oh,  don't  distress  yourself,  madame  !  "  said  Coren- 
tin, seeing  the  surprise  depicted  on  Madame  Séchard's 
beautiful  face.  "  I  mean  only  a  natural  son.  The 
rights  of  natural  children  are  not  those  of  legiti- 
mate children.  This  son  is  in  great  poverty,  and  he 
has  a  right  to  a  certain  sum  based  on  the  amount  of 
the  inheritance.  The  millions  that  your  father  left  —  " 

At  the  word  millions  there  rose  a  unanimous  cry 
throughout  the  salon.  Derville  stopped  looking  at  the 
pictures. 

"  Old  Séehard,  millions  !  "  ejaculated  Courtois. 
44  Who  told  you  that?    Some  peasant,  of  course." 

"  Monsieur/'  said  Cachan,  "you  don't  belong  to  the 
Treasury,  therefore  I  presume  there  is  no  danger  in 
telling  you  —  " 

44  Oh,  you  need  n't  fear!  "  said  Corentin.  44 1  give 
you  my  word  of  honor  that  I  am  not  employed  in  the 
National  Domain  office." 

Cachan,  who  had  signed  to  every  one  to  keep  quiet, 
nodded  his  head  with  satisfaction. 

44  Monsieur,"  continued  Corentin,  44  even  if  there  is 
only  one  million,  the  share  of  a  natural  son  is  a  large 
one.  We  don't  wish  to  bring  a  suit  ;  on  the  contrary, 
we  merely  propose  that  you  shall  pay  us  a  hundred 
thousand  francs  to  settle  the  claim." 


Lucien  de  Rubemjprê. 


211 


"  A  hundred  thousand  francs  !  "  cried  Cachan,  in- 
terrupting Corentin.  "  Why,  monsieur,  old  Séchard 
left  twenty  acres  of  vineyard,  five  little  farms,  ten 
acres  of  meadow-land  in  Marsac,  and  not  one  farthing 
with  —  " 

"  Not  for  all  the  world,"  cried  David  Séchard,  "  will 
I  consent  to  lie,  Monsieur  Cachan,  and  less  in  a  matter 
of  self-interest  than  in  all  others.  Messieurs,"  he  said 
to  Corentin  and  Derville,  "my  father  left  us,  beside 
his  land  "  (Courtois  and  Cachan  in  vain  made  signs  to 
him),  "three  hundred  thousand  francs,  which  brings 
the  whole  value  of  our  inheritance  from  him  to  five 
hundred  thousand  francs." 

"  Monsieur  Cachan,"  said  Eve  Séchard,  "  what  is  the 
share  which  the  law  gives  to  a  natural  child  ?  " 

"  Madame,"  said  Corentin,  "  we  are  not  Turks  ;  we 
only  ask  you  to  swear  before  these  gentlemen  that  you 
have  not  received  more  than  three  hundred  thousand 
francs  in  money  from  your  father's  estate.  That  is  all 
we  want." 

"First,  give  us  your  word  of  honor,"  said  the  for- 
mer lawyer  of  Angoulême  to  Derville,  "that  you  are 
indeed  a  lawyer." 

"  Here  is  my  passport,"  replied  Derville,  giving 
Cachan  a  paper  folded  in  four.  "  Monsieur,"  mo- 
tioning to  Corentin,  "is  not,  as  you  may  think,  an 
inspector-general  of  the  Domains.  Make  yourself 
easy,"  added  Derville.  "We  have  merely  a  strong 
interest  in  knowing  the  truth  about  the  Séchard  prop- 
erty-, and  we  now  know  it." 

Derville  then  took  Madame  Séchard  by  the  hand,  and 
led  her  very  courteously  to  the  end  of  the  salon. 


212 


Lucien  de  Iïubem,pré. 


"Madame,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice,  "if  the  honor 
and  future  welfare  of  the  house  of  Grandlieu  were  not 
concerned,  I  would  not  have  lent  myself  to  this  strata- 
gem, invented  by  that  decorated  gentleman.  But  you 
will  excuse  it,  I  am  sure.  The  question  was  simply  to 
verify  the  truth  or  falsehood  of  a  tale  by  which  your 
brother  has  gained  the  confidence  of  that  noble  family. 
Be  careful  now  not  to  let  it  be  believed  that  you.  have 
lent  your  brother  twelve  hundred  thousand  francs  to 
buy  the  estate  of  Rubempré." 

"  Twelve  hundred  thousand  francs  !  "  exclaimed  Ma- 
dame Séchard,  turning  pale.  "  Where  can  he  have 
got  them,  unhappy  boy?" 

"  Ah,  that's  the  point,"  said  Derville.  "  I  fear  the 
source  of  his  fortune  is  a  very  impure  one." 

The  tears  were  in  Eve's  eyes,  and  her  neighbors 
saw  them. 

"  We  have,  perhaps,  done  you  a  great  service," 
continued  Derville,  "  by  preserving  you  from  being 
connected  with  a  deception  which  may  have  very  dan- 
gerous consequences." 

Derville  left  Madame  Séchard  seated,  and  very  pale, 
with  the  tears  on  her  cheeks.  He  bowed  to  the  com- 
pany and  quitted  the  house. 

"  To  Mansle  !  "  cried  Corentin  to  the  little  boy  who 
drove  the  cabriolet. 

The  diligence  from  Bordeaux  to  Paris  passed  through 
Mansle  during  the  night  ;  there  was  one  seat  in  it. 
Derville  asked  Corentin  to  allow  him  to  take  it,  al- 
leging his  urgent  business  ;  but  in  reality  he  wanted 
to  shake  off  his  travelling  companion  whose  diplo- 
matic dexterity  and  sangfroid  seemed  to  him  a  well- 


Lucien  de  Bubemprê. 


213 


practised  habit.  Corentin  stayed  three  days  at  Mansle 
without  finding  an  opportunity  to  get  away.  He 
finally  wrote  to  Bordeaux  to  retain  a  place  for  Paris 
where  he  did  not  return  until  nine  days  after  his  de- 
parture. 

Five  days  after  Derville's  return  Lucien  received, 
in  the  morning,  a  visit  from  Rastignac. 

44  My  dear  fellow,"  said  the  latter,  "I  am  almost 
in  despair  about  a  negotiation  which  has  been  con- 
fided to  me  on  account  of  our  well-known  intimacy. 
Your  marriage  is  broken  off  without  allowing  you  any 
hope  whatever  of  renewing  it.  Never  put  your  foot 
again  in  the  hôtel  de  Grandi ieu.  To  marry  Clotilde 
you  would  have  to  wait  till  the  death  of  her  father, 
and  he 's  too  selfish  to  die  soon.  Old  whist-players 
hang  long  over  their  tables.  Clotilde  is  going  to  Italy 
with  Madeleine  de  Lenoncourt-Chaulieu.  The  poor 
girl  really  loves  you  ;  they  have  had  to  watch  her  ; 
she  wanted  to  come  and  see  you,  and  actually  made 
a  plan  to  get  away.  That 's  one  consolation  for  your 
disaster." 

Lucien  did  not  answer  ;  he  looked  at  Rastignac. 

"After  all,  is  it  a  disaster?"  Rastignac  went  on. 
"  You  can  find  other  girls  as  noble  and  much  hand- 
somer than  Clotilde.  Madame  de  Sérizy  will  find  you 
one  out  of  revenge  ;  she  can't  endure  the  Grandlieus, 
who  have  never  been  willing  to  receive  her.  There 's 
her  niece,  that  little  Clémence  du  Rouvre." 

"  My  dear  fellow,  I  am  not  on  good  terms  with 
Madame  de  Sérizy.  She  saw  me  in  Esther's  box  and 
made  me  a  scene  ;  I  left  her  without  a  word." 

"  A  woman  of  forty  does  n't  quarrel  long  with  a 


214 


Lucien  de  Eubempré. 


young  man  as  handsome  as  you,"  said  Rastignac.  "I 
know  a  little  about  those  sunsets  !  They  last  ten 
minutes  on  the  horizon  and  ten  years  in  a  woman's 
heart." 

"  I  have  been  expecting  a  letter  from  her  for  the 
last  week." 

"  Go  and  see  her." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  I  must." 


Lucien  de  Ruhemprê. 


215 


XV. 

FAREWELL. 

The  day  before  the  much  talked-of  housewarming, 
Madame  du  Val-Noble  was  sitting  at  nine  in  the 
morning  by  Esther's  bedside,  weeping  bitterly.  Her 
last  protector  had  died  suddenly,  and  she  knew  her- 
self on  the  down-hill  to  misery. 

"Oh  !  if  I  only  had  two  thousand  francs  a  year  !  " 
she  cried.  "  With  that  I  could  live  in  a  country-town 
and  find  some  one  to  marry." 

"I'll  get  them  for  you,"  said  Esther. 

"How?"  cried  Madame  du  Val-Noble,  eagerly. 

"Oh,  easily  enough.  Listen.  Pretend  that  you 
want  to  kill  yourself  ;  play  the  comedy  well  ;  send  for 
Asia  and  offer  to  give  her  ten  thousand  francs  for  two 
black  pearls  in  a  very  thin  glass  cover  ;  she  has  them  ; 
they  contain  a  poison  that  will  kill  in  a  second.  Bring 
them  to  me,  and  I  '11  give  you  fifty  thousand  francs 
for  them." 

"  Why  don't  you  ask  her  for  them  yourself?"  asked 
the  Val-Noble. 

"  Asia  would  not  sell  them  to  me." 
"  They  are  not  for  yourself?" 
"  Perhaps  so." 

"You!  —  who  live  in  the  midst  of  joy  and  luxury 
and  in  a  house  of  your  own  !    You,  on  the  eve  of  a 


216 


Lucien  de  BuhemprS. 


fête  about  which  people  will  talk  for  ten  years,  —  a 
fête  that  will  cost  Nucingen  tens  of  thousands  of 
francs  !  I 'm  told  there  '11  be  strawberries,  here  in 
February  !  asparagus  !  grapes  !  melons  !  and  three 
thousand  francs'  worth  of  flowers  are  ordered  for  the 
salon  !  " 

"  What  are  you  talking  about?  There'll  be  three 
thousand  francs'  worth  of  roses  on  the  staircase  alone." 

44  They  say  your  dress  cost  ten  thousand  !  " 

44 Yes;  it  is  Brussels  point.  I  wanted  a  regular 
bridal  dress." 

44  Where  am  I  to  get  the  ten  thousand  francs  for 
Asia?" 

44  Oh  !  I'll  give  them  to  you  ;  it's  all  the  money  I 
have,"  said  Esther,  laughing.  44  Open  my  dressing- 
case  ;  you  '11  find  them  —  under  the  curl-papers." 

44  When  people  talk  of  dying  they  never  kill  them- 
selves," said  Madame  du  Val-Noble.  44  If  it  were  to 
commit  —  " 

44  A  crime?  nonsense!  "  said  Esther,  completing  the 
thought.  44  You  need  n't  worry,"  she  continued  ;  4k  I 'm 
not  going  to  kill  any  one.  I  had  a  friend,  a  very 
happy  woman  ;  she  is  dead,  and  I  shall  follow  her  — 
that's  all." 

44  How  silly  you  are  !  " 

44  Can't  help  it,  we  promised  each  other." 

44  Then  let  the  note  go  to  protest,"  said  Madame  du 
Val-Noble,  laughing. 

44  Do  as  I  tell  you,  and  go  away.  I  hear  a  carriage, 
and  it  is  Nucingen  ;  he  is  going  mad  with  happiness. 
Ah!  he  loves  me,  that  man!  Why  don't  we  love 
those  that  love  us?" 


Lucien  de  Bubemjpré. 


217 


"  Ah  !  that 's  it,"  said  Madame  du  Val-Noble.  "  It 
is  the  history  of  the  herring,  —  the  most  intriguing  of 
fishes." 

"Why?" 

"  Nobody  has  ever  known." 

"  Come,  go,  my  angel!  I  must  get  you  your  fifty 
thousand  francs." 

"Well,  then,  adieu!  " 

For  the  last  three  days  Esther's  manner  to  the  baron 
had  completely  changed.  The  mocking  tone  had  first 
grown  feline,  and  now  the  cat  had  turned  into  a 
woman.  She  lavished  affection  on  the  old  man,  and 
made  herself  charming  to  him.  Her  talk,  devoid  now 
of  malice  and  bitterness,  was  even  tender,  and  brought 
conviction  to  the  mind  of  the  clumsy  banker.  She 
called  him  Fritz  ;  he  believed  she  loved  him. 

He  had  now  brought  her  the  certificate  of  the  in- 
vestment on  the  Grand- Livre,  and  had  come  to  break- 
fast with  his  "dear  little  anchel"  to  take  her  orders 
for  the  next  day,  the  famous  Saturday,  the  great  day. 

"Here,  my  little  wife,  my  only  wife,"  he  said  joy- 
ously, "  here's  enough  to  keep  your  kitchen  going  for 
the  rest  of  your  days." 

Esther  took  the  paper,  without  the  slightest  emotion, 
folded  it,  and  put  it  in  her  dressing-case. 

"  So  now  you  are  pleased,  monster  of  iniquity,"  she 
said,  giving  a  little  tap  to  his  cheek,  —  "  pleased  to  see 
me  accepting  something  from  you  at  last.  I  can't 
tell  you  any  more  home  truths,  for  now  I  share  the 
fruit  of  what  you  call  your  labors.  'T  is  n't  a  gift,  — 
no,  my  poor  old  man,  it  is  a  restitution.  Come,  don't 
put  on  your  Bourse  face  ;  you  know  I  love  you." 


218 


Lucien  de  Bubemprê. 


"My  beautiful  Esther,  my  angel  of  love,  don't  talk 
to  me  so  again,"  said  the  banker.  "See!  I  would 
not  care  if  all  the  world  called  me  a  thief  if  I  could 
only  be  an  honest  man  in  your  sight  ;  I  love  you  daily 
more  and  more." 

"  That 's  my  plan,"  said  Esther.  "  Therefore  I  will 
never  again  say  anything  to  grieve  you,  my  old  ele- 
phant ;  for  you 've  grown  as  innocent  as  a  child.  Par- 
bleu! vieux  scélérat,  you  never  had  any  innocence  but 
that  which  you  came  into  the  world  with  ;  it  had  to 
get  to  the  surface  some  day,  but 't  was  so  deep  down 
it  could  n't  get  up  till  you  were  sixty-five  years  old  ; 
and  then  it  was  fished  up  with  the  hook  of  love  !  — 
a  phenomenon  of  old  men.  And  that 's  why  I 've 
ended  by  loving  you  —  you  're  young,  oh  !  very  young  ! 
There 's  none  but  me  who  knows  this  Frédéric  —  none 
but  me  !  for  you  must  have  been  a  banker  in  your 
teens.  I  know  you  lent  your  schoolmates  one  marble 
on  condition  they  returned  you  two.  Ah  !  well,  well  !  " 
she  cried,  as  she  saw  him  laugh,  "you  shall  do  as  you 
like.  Hey  !  pillage  men,  and  I  '11  help  you.  Men  are 
not  worth  being  loved  ;  Napoleon  killed  them  like  flies. 
What  does  it  signify  whether  they  pay  taxes  to  you  or 
the  budget?  There 's  no  love  in  the  budget,  and  I  say  — 
yes  !  I 've  reflected  about  it,  and  you  're  right  —  shear 
the  sheep  ;  that 's  in  the  Gospel  according  to  Béranger. 
Kiss  your  Esther.  Ah  !  dis  donc,  promise  that  you  '11 
give  that  poor  Val-Noble  all  the  furniture  of  my  apart- 
ment in  the  rue  Taitbout  —  promise  !  And  to-morrow, 
I  want  you  to  present  her  with  fifty  thousand  francs. 
What  a  figure  you'll  cut,  mon  chat!  Babylonian  gen- 
erosity !  all  the  women  will  talk  of  you  —  so,  after  all, 
it  is  putting  your  money  out  at  interest." 


Lucien  de  Ruhempré. 


219 


"You  are  right,  my  anchel  ;  you  know  the  world," 
he  replied.    "  I'll  be  guided  by  you." 

"  Well,"  she  said,  "  you  see  how  I  think  about  your 
affairs,  and  your  consideration  and  your  honor.  Now 
go  and  get  me  that  fifty  thousand  francs." 

She  wanted  to  be  rid  of  him  and  send  for  a  broker 
to  sell  the  investment  that  very  day  at  the  Bourse. 

"  Why  must  I  get  them  at  once?  " 

"Oh,  you  silly!  don't  you  know  you  should  offer 
them  in  a  pretty  satin  box  under  a  fan,  and  say, 
•  Here,  madame,  is  a  fan  that  I  hope  will  please  you  '  ? 
Do  go  and  get  the  things  at  once." 

"Charming,"  said  the  baron;  "I  shall  have  wit 
enough  now.    Yes,  I  shall  repeat  your  words." 

Just  as  poor  Esther  was  flinging  herself  down,  weary 
with  the  effort  of  playing  her  rôle,  Europe  entered. 

"Madame,"  she  said,  "here's  a  messenger  sent 
from  the  quai  Malaquais  by  Celestin,  Monsieur  Lu- 
cien7 s  valet." 

"Let  him  come  in.  No,  stay;  I'll  go  to  the  ante- 
chamber." 

Esther  rushed  to  the  antechamber  and  looked  at  the 
messenger,  who  seemed  to  her  an  ordinary  porter.  He 
gave  her  a  letter. 

When  she  had  read  it  she  dropped  into  a  chair,  and 
said,  in  a  weak  voice,  — 

"Tell  him  to  come  down;"  adding,  in  Europe's 
ear,  "Lucien  has  tried  to  kill  himself.  Show  him  the 
letter." 

The  abbé,  who  still  wore  the  dress  of  a  commercial 
traveller,  came  down  at  once,  and  instantly  observed 
the  porter  standing  in  the  antechamber. 


220 


Lucien  de  Rubemprê. 


'k  You  told  me  there  was  no  one  here,"  he  said  in 
Europe's  ear. 

As  a  matter  of  precaution  he  passed  into  the  salon 
after  glancing  at  the  man.  Trompe-la-Mort  was  not 
aware  that  the  well-known  head  of  the  detective  police, 
who  had  arrested  him  in  the  Maison  Vauquer,  had  a 
rival  and  possible  successor  in  Contenson. 

"Yes,  you  are  right,"  said  the  porter  (Contenson), 
when  he  joined  his  superior,  Corentin,  in  the  street- 
"  The  man  you  described  is  in  the  house  ;  but  he's  no 
Spaniard.  I 'd  be  willing  to  put  my  hand  in  the  fire 
that  there 's  some  of  our  own  game  under  that  cassock. 
He  is  no  more  a  priest  than  he  is  a  Spaniard." 

"I'm  certain  of  that,"  replied  the  head  of  the 
political  police. 

"  Oh,  if  we  could  only  prove  it  !  "  said  Contenson. 

Lucien  had  really  been  missing  two  days,  and  they 
had  profited  by  his  absence  to  lay  this  trap  ;  but  he 
returned  that  evening,  and  Esther's  fears  were  quieted. 

The  next  morning,  just  after  she  had  taken  her  bath 
and  had  gone  back  to  bed  again,  Madame  du  Val- 
Noble  arrived. 

u  There  are  your  two  pearls,"  she  said. 

"  Let  me  look,"  said  Esther,  half  rising,  and  rest- 
ing her  pretty  elbow  on  the  lace  pillow. 

Madame  du  Val-Noble  held  out  to  her  what  looked 
to  be  two  black  currants.  The  baron  had  given 
Esther  a  pair  of  little  greyhounds  of  a  celebrated 
breed  (which  will  sooner  or  later  bear  the  name  of  a 
great  contemporary  poet,  who  first  brought  them  into 
fashion).  She  was  very  proud  of  possessing  them, 
and  had  given  them  the  names  of  their  progenitors, 


Lucien  de  Rubempré. 


221 


Romeo  and  Juliet.  Esther  called  Romeo.  The  pretty 
creature  ran  to  her  on  his  slender,  flexible  feet,  so  firm, 
so  sinewy  that  they  were  like  steel  springs.  He  looked 
at  his  mistress.  Esther  made  a  gesture  of  throwing 
one  of  the  pearls  to  attract  his  attention. 

"His  name  has  destined  him  to  die  thus,"  said 
Esther,  flinging  the  pearl,  which  Romeo  broke  between 
his  teeth. 

The  dog  gave  no  cry  ;  he  turned  upon  himself  and 
fell  stone-dead  while  Esther  was  still  uttering  the 
words  of  his  funeral  oration. 

"  Oh,  heavens  !  "  cried  Madarne  du  Yal-Noble. 

"  You  have  a  carriage;  carry  off  the  late  Romeo," 
said  Esther.  "  His  death  would  create  a  commotion 
here.  Make  haste.  You  shall  have  your  fifty  thou- 
sand francs  to-night." 

This  was  said  so  tranquilly,  with  the  absolute  in- 
sensibility characteristic  of  a  courtesan,  that  Madame 
du  Val-Noble  cried  out,  — 

"You  are  indeed  our  queen!" 

"  I  shall  say  I  lent  Romeo  to  you;  and  you  must 
say  he  died  at  your  house.  Come  early,  and  look 
your  best." 

At  five  o'clock  that  afternoon,  Esther  dressed,  as 
she  had  said,  like  a  bride.  She  put  on  her  lace  gown 
over  a  skirt  of  white  satin,  and  wore  a  white  sash 
and  white  shoes,  and  over  her  beautiful  shoulders  a 
scarf  of  point  d'Angleterre.  In  her  hair  were  nat- 
ural white  camellias,  and  round  her  throat  a  neck- 
lace of  pearls  costing  thirty  thousand  francs,  sent  to 
her  by  Nucingen.  Though  her  toilet  was  finished  by 
six  o'clock,  she  had  closed  her  doors  to  every  one, 


222 


Lucien  de  Bubemprê. 


for  she  expected  Lucien.  He  came  at  seven,  and 
Europe  found  means  to  bring  him  up  to  Esther's 
room  without  his  arrival  being  noticed. 

When  Lucien  saw  Esther  dressed  as  she  was  and  in 
all  her  beauty,  he  said  to  himself  :  "  Why  not  go  and 
live  with  her  at  Rubempré,  far  from  the  world,  and 
never  see  Paris  again?  I  have  had  five  years'  instal- 
ment of  that  life,  and  the  dear  creature's  nature  can 
never  be  false  to  itself  ;  where  could  I  ever  find 
another  such  perfection?" 

44  My  friend,  you  whom  I  have  made  my  deity," 
said  Esther,  kneeling  before  Lucien,  "  bless  me  —  " 

Lucien  tried  to  raise  her,  and  kissed  her,  saying: 

44  You  are  joking,  dear  love." 

Then  he  tried  to  take  her  by  the  waist,  but  Esther 
disengaged  herself  with  a  motion  of  mingled  respect 
and  horror. 

"  I  am  no  longer  worthy  of  you,  Lucien,"  she  said, 
letting  the  tears  roll  from  her  eyes.  44  I  implore  you, 
bless  me  —  and  swear  to  found  two  beds  at  the  Hôtel 
Dieu  ;  as  for  masses  in  church,  God  will  never  par- 
don me  except  to  myself.  I  have  loved  you  too 
much.  But  at  least  tell  me  that  I  made  you  happy 
and  that  you  will  sometimes  think  of  me  —  won't 
you?" 

Lucien  saw  such  solemn  sincerity  in  Esther's  man- 
ner that  he  grew  thoughtful. 

44  You  mean  to  kill  yourself,"  he  said  at  last,  in  a 
tone  of  voice  that  indicated  some  deep  meditation. 

44  No  my  friend  ;  but  to-day,  you  see,  is  the  death 
of  the  woman,  chaste  and  pure  and  loving,  who  was 
yours,  and  I  am  afraid  that  grief  may  kill  me." 


Lucien  de  Buhemprc. 


223 


"  Poor  child!  wait,"  said  Lucien.  "I  have  made 
great  efforts  during  the  last  two  days  ;  I  have  man- 
aged to  communicate  with  Clotilde." 

'  '  Always  Clotilde  !  "  she  cried  in  a  tone  of  smoth- 
ered anger. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "we  have  written  to  each  other. 
On  Tuesday  morning  she  starts  on  her  journey,  but 
I  am  to  meet  her  near  Fontainebleau  on  the  road  to 
Italy." 

"Ah,  ça!  what  do  you  want  for  wives,  you  men? 
Planks?  "  cried  poor  Esther.  "  Tell  me,  if  I  had  four 
or  five  millions  would  you  marry  me  ?  " 

"Child!  I  was  just  about  to  tell  you  that  if  all 
is  over  for  me,  I  want  no  other  wife  but  you." 

Esther  lowered  her  head  to  hide  her  sudden  pallor 
and  the  tears  that  she  brushed  from  her  eyes. 

"You  love  me!"  she  said,  looking  at  Lucien  with 
bitter  sorrow.  "Well,  that  is  my  benediction.  Don't 
compromise  yourself  ;  go  down  by  the  little  staircase 
and  pretend  that  you  entered  the  salon  from  the  ante- 
chamber. Kiss  me  on  the  forehead,"  she  said.  She 
took  Lucien  in  her  arms,  strained  him  to  her  heart  with 
violence,  and  said,  "  Go  !  go  !  or  I  must  live." 

When  she  appeared  in  the  salon  a  cry  of  admiration 
arose.  Esther's  eyes  reflected  an  infinity  in  which  the 
soul  seemed  lost  ;  and  the  blue-black  of  her  beautiful 
hair  brought  out  the  white  tones  of  the  camellias. 
She  had  no  rival.  She  appeared  as  the  supreme  ex- 
pression of  unbridled  luxury,  the  creations  of  which 
surrounded  her.  Her  talk  sparkled  with  wit.  She 
commanded  the  revels  with  the  cold  calmness  of 
Habeneck  at  the  Conservatoire  when  he  leads  the 


224 


Lucien  de  JRubemprê. 


best  musicians  of  Europe  in  interpreting  Beethoven 
and  Mozart.  Nucingen  ate  little  and  drank  nothing- 
By  midnight  all  the  company  had  lost  their  senses. 
They  broke  the  glasses  that  they  might  never  be  used 
again.  The  curtains  were  torn.  None  could  keep 
their  feet;  the  women  were  asleep  on  the  sofas. 
Bixiou,  who  was  drunk  for  the  second  time  in  his 
life,  said,  as  he  saw  Nucingen  lead  Esther  away, 
"  The  police  ought  to  be  notified,  —  some  evil  is  about 
to  happen." 

The  jester  thought  he  jested  ;  he  prophesied. 

Monsieur  de  Nucingen  did  not  appear  in  his  office 
until  twelve  o'clock  Monday  morning.  At  one 
o'clock,  his  broker  informed  him  that  Mademoiselle 
Esther  van  Gobseck  had  sold  the  investment  on  the 
Grand-Livre  the  preceding  Friday  and  received  the 
money. 

"  But,  Monsieur  le  baron,"  he  said,  "  the  head-clerk 
in  Monsieur  Derville's  office  came  in  just  as  we  were 
speaking  of  this  transfer,  and  after  reading  Mademoi- 
selle Esther's  real  name,  he  told  me  that  Monsieur 
Derville  was  searching  for  her  as  the  heiress  to  a  for- 
tune of  seven  millions." 

"  Bah  !  "  cried  Nucingen. 

"  Yes  ;  she  is  the  sole  heiress  of  the  old  usurer 
Gobseck.  Derville  is  to  verify  the  facts.  If  the 
mother  of  Mademoiselle  Esther  was  that  beautiful 
Dutch  girl  who  —  " 

"  I  know  all  that,"  said  the  banker.  "  She  has  re- 
lated to  me  her  life.    I  '11  write  a  note  to  Derville." 

The  baron  sat  down  at  his  desk,  wrote  the  little  note, 
and  sent  it.    Then  he  went  to  the  Bourse,  and  at  three 


Lucien  de  Bubempré. 


225 


o'clock  he  returned  to  the  house  in  the  place  Saint- 
Georges. 

"  Madame  has  forbidden  rue  to  wake  her  under  any 
pretext  whatever/'  said  Europe. 

"  The  devil  !  "  cried  the  baron.  "  Europe,  my  dear, 
she  won't  be  augry  if  you  tell  her  she  is  rich,  richis- 
sime !  She  inherits  a  fortune  of  seven  millions.  Old 
Gobseck  is  dead,  and  your  mistress  is  his  heiress,  for 
her  mother  was  the  old  fellow's  niece." 

"Ha!  your  reign  is  over,  old  mountebank,"  said 
Europe,  looking  at  the  baron  with  the  insolence  of 
one  of  Molière's  servant-women.  "  Eugh  !  old  crow 
of  Alsace  !  She  loved  you  about  as  much  as  one 
loves  the  plague  —  Heavens  and  earth  !  millions  ? 
ah,  now  she  can  marry  her  lover  !  Oh  !  won't  she  be 
glad  !  " 

And  Prudence  Servien  left  the  baron  confounded, 
and  ran  to  be  the  first  to  tell  her  mistress  of  this  stroke 
of  luck.  The  old  man,  believing  in  his  happiness,  re- 
ceived this  shock  of  cold  water  on  his  love  at  the 
moment  when  it  had  reached  its  highest  degree  of 
incandescence. 

"She  deceived  me!"  he  cried,  with  tears  in  his 
eyes.  "  She  was  deceiving  me  !  Oh,  Esther  !  oh,  my 
life  !  Fool  that  I  have  been  !  Such  flowers  cannot 
bloom  for  old  men.  Youth  I  could  uot  buy.  Oh,  my 
life  !  What  can  I  do  ?  What  shall  I  become  ?  She 
is  right,  that  dreadful  Europe  !  Esther,  rich,  escapes 
me.  Shall  I  go  hang  myself?  What  is  life  without 
love?    Oh,  my  life!" 

A  piercing  cry  made  him  quiver  to  the  very  marrow 
of  his  bones  ;  he  rose,  and  walked  with  shaking  legs, 

15 


226 


Lucien  de  RubemprS. 


drunk  from  the  shock  of  disenchantment.  Nothing 
intoxicates  so  fatally  as  the  wine  of  misery.  At  the 
door  of  the  chamber  the  unhappy  man  saw  Esther  stiff 
on  her  bed,  livid  from  poison,  dead. 

He  went  to  her  side  and  fell  on  his  knees. 

44  You  are  right,"  he  said.  44  She  warned  me  of  this. 
She  has  died  of  me  !  " 

Paccard,  Asia,  and  the  rest  of  the  household  ran  in. 
It  was  a  sight  to  see,  —  a  surprise  ;  but  there  was  no 
desolation.  Some  uncertainty  was  felt  among  the  ser- 
vants. The  baron  became  a  banker,  and,  feeling  sus- 
picious, was  imprudent  enough  to  ask  where  were  the 
seven  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs,  the  product 
of  the  sale  of  the  investment.  Paccard,  Asia,  and 
Europe  looked  at  each  other  in  so  singular  a  manner 
that  Nucingen  went  out  immediately,  believing  in  a 
murder  and  robbery.  Europe,  who  felt  under  Esther's 
pillow  a  limp  package  which  seemed  to  reveal  bank- 
notes, began  to  busy  herself  with  the  body,  and  said 
to  Asia  :  — 

44  Go  and  tell  Monsieur  Carlos.  To  die  before  she 
knew  she  had  seven  millions  !  Tell  monsieur  that  Gob- 
seck was  her  uncle,  and  has  left  her  everything." 

Paccard  seized  the  meaning  of  Europe's  manoeuvre. 
As  soon  as  Asia's  back  was  turned,  Europe  opened  the 
package,  on  which  the  poor  girl  had  written,  44  To  be 
given  to  Monsieur  Lucien  de  Rubempré."  Seven  hun- 
dred and  fifty  thousand  francs  in  bank-bills  beamed  on 
the  eyes  of  Prudence  Servien. 

44  Oh,"  she  cried,  14  how  happy  and  honest  we  might 
be  for  the  rest  of  our  days  !  " 

Paccard's  thieving  nature  was  stronger  than  his 
attachment  to  Trompe-la-Mort. 


Lucien  de  Ruhemprê. 


227 


"Durut  is  dead,"  he  said;  "  my  shoulder  is  still 
clear.  Let  us  be  off  together,  and  divide  it  up,  so 
as  not  to  have  all  our  eggs  in  one  basket,  and  get 
married." 

'  '  But  where  can  we  hide  ?  "  said  Prudence. 
44  In  Paris,"  replied  Paccard. 

The  pair  turned  and  went  down  the  stairway  with 
the  rapidity  of  thieves,  and  left  the  house. 

"  My  dear,"  said  Trompe-la-Mort,  when  Asia  had 
told  her  news,  "go  and  find  me  a  letter  or  paper  in 
Esther's  handwriting,  while  I  write  her  will.  Carry 
the  letter  and  will  to  Girard,  and  tell  him  to  write  it 
off  at  once,  for  you  must  slip  the  will  under  Esther's 
pillow  before  the  seals  are  put  on." 

He  then  wrote  the  following  draft  of  a  will  :  — 

Having  never  loved  any  one  in  the  world  but  Monsieur 
Lucien  Chardon  de  Rubempré,  and  being  resolved  to  put  an 
end  to  my  days  rather  than  fall  back  into  vice  and  the  in- 
famous life  from  which  his  charity  redeemed  me,  I  give 
and  bequeath  to  the  said  Lucien  Chardon  de  Rubempré  all 
that  I  die  possessed  of,  on  condition  that  he  will  found  a 
mass  at  the  parish  church  of  Saint-Roeh  for  the  repose  of  her 
who  has  given  him  all,  even  her  last  thought. 

Esther  Gobseck. 

44  There,  that 's  sufficiently  in  her  style  !  "  said 
Trompe  la-Mort. 

By  seven  in  the  evening  this  will,  duly  written  and 
signed  by  a  trained  forger,  was  put  by  Asia  under 
Esther's  pillow. 

44  The  police  have  come  !  "  she  cried,  hurrying  up  to 
the  abbe's  room  shortly  after. 

41  You  mean  the  justice  of  peace  and  his  people." 


228 


Lucien  de  Bubempré. 


"  No,  I  do  not  ;  the  justice  of  peace  was  there  too, 
but  the  gendarmes  accompany  him.  The  public  prose- 
cutor and  the  justice  of  peace  are  both  there.  The 
doors  are  guarded." 

"This  death  has  made  a  sudden  rumpus,"  said 
Trompe-la-Mort. 

"Europe' and  Paccard  have  disappeared,  and  I'm 
afraid  the}'  have  carried  off  the  seven  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  francs,"  said  Asia. 

"Ah,  the  blackguards!"  he  cried.  "That  bit  of 
pilfering  may  lose  us  all/" 

Human  justice  and  Parisian  justice,  — that  is  to  say, 
the  most  distrustful,  most  intelligent,  ablest,  and  best- 
informed  of  all  justice,  —  too  intelligent  sometimes, 
because  it  interprets  everything  solely  by  the  law,  — 
had  at  last  put  its  hand  on  the  threads  of  this  horrible 
intrigue.  The  Baron  de  Nucingen,  recognizing  the 
effects  of  poison,  and  remembering  the  seven  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand  francs,  thought  that  one  or  other  of 
the  odious  servants  whom  he  disliked  was  guilty  of  a 
crime.  In  his  first  fury  he  went  straight  to  the  pre- 
fecture of  police.  It  was  like  ringing  a  bell  that 
brought  all  Corentin's  minions  into  play.  The  prefec- 
ture, the  courts,  the  commissary  of  police,  the  justice 
of  peace,  the  examining  justice,  were  at  once  afoot. 
By  nine  o'clock  three  doctors  were  engaged  on  poor 
Esther's  autopsy,  and  the  inquiry  began.  Trompe- 
la-Mort,  informed  of  this  by  Asia,  said  coolly  :  — 

"  No  one  knows  I  am  here  ;  I  can  keep  out  of 
sight." 

He  raised  himself  by  the  frame  of  his  garret  sky- 
light, and  sprang  with  extraordinary  agility  to  the 


Lucien  de  Ruhemjprê. 


229 


roof,  where,  standing  erect,  he  began  to  consider  the 
surroundings  with  the  coolness  of  a  slater.  "  Good  !  " 
he  said,  noticing  a  garden  at  a  distance  of  five  houses 
off,  44  a  garden  ;  that 's  all  I  want." 

"  Easily  pleased,  Trcmpe-la-Mort,"  said  Contenson, 
coming  from  behind  a  stack  of  chimneys.  44  You  can 
explain  to  ^Monsieur  Camusot  what  sort  of  mass  mon- 
sieur l'abbe  proposed  to  say  on  the  roofs  ;  and,  above 
all,  why  he  wanted  to  run  away." 

44 1  have  enemies  in  Spain,"  said  Carlos  Herrera. 

44  Come,  we  '11  go  down  through  your  attic." 

Carlos  yielded  apparently  ;  but  as  soon  as  he  could 
brace  himself  against  the  frame  of  the  sky-light,  he 
3eized  Contenson  round  the  legs,  and  flung  him  with 
such  violence  that  the  police-spy  fell  headlong  into  the 
place  Saint-Georges,  and  died  upon  his  field  of  honor. 
Jacques  Collin  returned  composedly  to  his  attic,  where 
he  went  to  bed. 

"  Give  me  something  to  make  me  very  ill  without 
killing  me,"  he  said  to  Asia.  44  Don't  be  alarmed  at 
whatever  happens.  I  am  a  priest,  and  I  shall  stay  a 
priest.  I  have  just  got  rid,  in  a  natural  manner,  for 
he  slipped  off  the  roof,  of  the  only  man  who  could 
unmask  me." 

At  seven  o'clock  the  same  evening,  Lucien  had 
started  in  his  cabriolet,  with  a  passport  taken  that 
morning  for  Fontainebleau,  where  he  slept  in  the  last 
inn  on  the  road  to  Nemours.  About  six  the  next 
morning  he  went  on  foot  through  the  forest  and 
walked  to  Bouron. 

44  It  was  just  there,"  he  thought,  sitting  down  on 
one  of  the  rocks  from  which  the  noble  landscape  of 


230  Lucien  de  Eubempri. 


Bouron  can  be  seen,  "just  at  that  fatal  spot,  that 
Napoleon  hoped  to  make  a  gigantic  effort  two  nights 
before  his  abdication. " 

After  a  while  he  heard  the  wheels  of  a  carriage,  and 
a  britska  passed  him,  in  which  were  the  servants  of 
the  young  Duchesse  de  Lenoncourt-Chaulieu  and  the 
waiting-maid  of  Clotilde  de  Grandlieu. 

"  Here  they  come,"  thought  Lucien  ;  "  now  to  play 
this  comedy  well,  and  I  am  saved.  I  shall  be  the 
son-in-law  of  the  duke  in  spite  of  him." 

An  hour  passed,  and  then  a  travelling-carriage,  in 
which  were  the  two  young  women,  came  on  with  the 
roll,  so  easily  distinguished,  of  an  elegant  equipage. 
The  duchess  had  given  orders  to  put  the  brake  on 
the  wheels  as  the  carriage  came  down  the  steep  de- 
scent from  Bouron.  The  footman  got  off  his  seat 
to  obey  her,  and  the  carriage  stopped.  At  that  mo- 
ment Lucien  advanced. 

* 4  Clotilde!"  he  cried,  tapping  on  the  window. 

"  No,"  said  the  young  duchess  to  her  friend,  44  he 
must  not  get  into  the  carriage  ;  he  shall  not  be  alone 
with  us.  Have  a  last  interview  with  him  ;  I  consent 
to  that  ;  but  it  must  be  on  the  open  road,  where  we 
will  go  on  foot,  followed  by  Baptiste.  The  day  is 
fine,  we  are  warmly  dressed,  and  we  need  not  fear  the 
cold.    The  carriage  can  follow." 

They  both  got  out. 

44  Baptiste,"  said  the  duchess,  44  the  postilion  is  to 
follow  slowly  ;  we  want  to  walk  a  little  way,  and  you 
will  accompany  us." 

Madeleine  de  Mortsauf  took  Clotilde  by  the  arm, 
and  allowed  Lucien  to  talk  with  her.    Together  they 


Lucien  de  Hahempre. 


231 


walked  on  to  the  little  village  of  G-rey.  It  was 
then  eight  o'clock,  and  there  Clo tilde  bade  Lucien 
good-bye. 

"  Remember,  my  friend,"  she  said,  ending  nobly  the 
long  interview,  "  I  will  never  marry  any  one  but  you. 
I  prefer  to  believe  in  you  above  all  men,  above  even 
my  father  and  my  mother.  Could  I  give  you  a  greater 
proof  of  my  attachment?  Now  strive  to  remove  the 
unjust  prejudices  which  weigh  upon  you." 

The  gallop  of  several  horses  was  heard,  and  in  a 
moment  a  squad  of  gendarmes  surrounded  the  little 
group,  much  to  the  astonishment  of  the  two  ladies. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  this?"  said  Lucien,  with 
the  arrogance  of  a  fashionable  young  man. 

"Are  you  Monsieur  Lucien  de  Rubempré?"  asked 
a  person  who  was  the  public  prosecutor  of  Fontaine- 
bleau. 

"Yes,  monsieur." 

"You  will  sleep  to-night  in  La  Force;  I  have  a 
warrant  to  arrest  you." 

"Who  are  these  ladies?"  inquired  the  corporal  of 
gendarmes. 

"Ah,  true!  Mesdames,  your  passports  —  for  this 
young  man  has  acquaintances,  so  my  instructions  say, 
with  women  capable  of  —  " 

"  Do  you  take  the  Duchesse  de  Lenoncourt  and  her 
friend  for  such  women  ?  "  said  Madeleine,  casting  the 
look  of  a  duchess  at  the  speaker.  "Baptiste,  show 
our  passports." 

"Of  what  crime  is  monsieur  accused?"  asked  Clo- 
tilde,  whom  the  duchess  was  entreating  to  get  into  the 
carriage. 


232 


Lucien  de  Mubemprê. 


"Of  theft,  and  murder,"  replied  the  corporal  of 
gendarmes. 

Baptiste  lifted  Mademoiselle  de  Grandlieu  in  a  dead 
faint  into  the  carriage. 

At  midnight  Lucien  was  locked  up  in  the  prison  of 
La  Force,  where  he  was  kept  in  solitary  confinement. 
The  Abbé  Carlos  Herrera  had  been  brought  there  ou 
the  previous  evening. 


Lucien  de  Rubempré. 


238 


XVI. 

WHITHER  THE  PATH  OF  EVIL  LED. 

At  six  o'clock  on  the  following  morning,  two  ver 
hides,  called,  in  the  vigorous  language  of  the  populace, 
"  salad-baskets,"  left  the  prison  of  La  Force  and  took 
the  road  to  the  Conciergerie,  the  prison  of  the  Palais 
de  Justice. 

There  are  few  loungers  in  Paris  who  have  not  met 
this  rolling  jail  ;  but  —  although  as  a  rule  French 
books  are  written  solely  for  Parisians  —  foreigners  may 
like  to  find  here  a  description  of  this  formidable  equi- 
page of  our  criminal  justice.  Who  knows  but  what 
the  Russian,  German,  or  Austrian  police,  hitherto 
lacking  salad-baskets,  may  profit  by  it?  and  in  several 
foreign  countries  an  imitation  of  this  mode  of  trans- 
portation would  certainly  be  a  benefit  to  prisoners. 

This  ignoble  vehicle,  with  a  yellow  body,  mounted 
on  two  wheels,  and  lined  with  sheet-iron,  is  divided 
into  two  compartments.  In  the  first  is  a  seat,  cov- 
ered with  leather  and  having  a  leathern  apron.  Here 
sit  the  constable  and  a  gendarme.  Behind  them  a 
heavy  iron  grating,  reaching  from  roof  to  floor,  filling 
the  whole  width  of  the  vehicle,  separates  this  species 
of  cabriolet  from  the  second  compartment,  in  which 
are  two  wooden  benches,  placed,  as  in  omnibuses,  on 
either  side  of  the  van  ;  on  these  the  prisoners  sit. 


234 


Lucien  de  Rubemjpré. 


They  are  put  in  at  the  back,  where  there  is  one  step, 
through  an  iron  door  without  a  window.  The  nickname 
of  "  salad-basket"  came  from  the  fact  that  the  vehicle 
had  originally  an  open  grating  on  all  sides,  through 
which  the  prisoners  could  be  seen,  shaken  about  like 
lettuces.  For  greater  security,  in  case  of  accidents, 
this  van  is  followed  by  a  gendarme  on  horseback, 
especially  when  conveying  condemned  prisoners  to  the 
scaffold.  Consequently  escape  is  impossible.  The 
vehicle,  being  lined  with  sheet-iron,  cannot  be  cut 
by  any  instrument.  The  prisoners,  carefully  searched 
when  arrested  or  when  locked  up,  possess  no  other 
implement  than,  possibly,  their  watch-springs,  whicn 
may  serve  to  file  a  bar,  but  are  useless  on  smooth  sur- 
faces. The  salad-basket,  now  brought  to  perfection 
by  the  police  of  Paris,  serves  as  a  model  for  the  cel- 
lular wagon  used  to  convey  convicts  to  the  galleys, 
which  has  taken  the  place  of  the  dreadful  cart,  that 
shame  of  preceding  generations,  though  Manon  Les- 
caut glorified  it. 

The  salad-basket  serves  several  purposes.  First, 
it  conveys  accused  persons  before  trial  from  the  vari- 
ous prisons  to  the  Palais,  there  to  be  questioned  by 
the  examining  magistrate.  In  prison  language  this  is 
called  "  going  up  for  examination."  Also  it  conveys 
accused  persons  to  the  Palais  for  trial,  unless  the  case 
is  one  for  the  correctional  police-courts,  which  take 
cognizance  of  misdemeanors  only.  When  "  a  big  crim- 
inal," to  use  a  Palais  term,  is  concerned  the  salad- bas- 
ket conveys  him  from  the  various  houses  of  correction 
to  the  Conciergerie,  which  is  the  jail  for  the  depart- 
ment of  the  Seine.    Finally,  criminals  condemned  to 


Lucien  de  Bubempré. 


235 


death  are  taken  in  it  from  Bicêtre  (where  prisoners 
under  capital  sentence  are  confined)  to  the  barrière 
Saint-Jacques,  the  place  designated  for  executions  after 
the  revolution  of  July.  Thanks  to  philanthropy,  these 
unhappy  wretches  no  longer  surfer  the  torture  of  con- 
veyance from  the  Conciergerie  to  the  Place  de  Grève 
in  a  cart  exactly  like  that  used  for  the  conveyance 
of  wood.  That  cart  is  only  used  now  for  conveyance 
from  the  scaffold.  It  is  impossible  to  go  to  execution 
more  comfortably  than  by  the  present  system  in  Paris. 

At  this  moment  the  two  salad-baskets,  issuing  so 
early  in  the  morniug,  were  engaged,  somewhat  excep- 
tionally, in  transferring  two  accused  persons  from  the 
house  of  correction  called  La  Force  to  the  Concier- 
gerie ;  each  of  these  prisoners  had  a  salad-basket  to 
himself. 

Nine-tenths  of  readers,  and  nine-tenths  of  the  last 
tenth  are  ignorant  of  the  very  considerable  differences 
that  exist  among  the  words  inculpé  [suspected  per- 
son], prévenu  [accused  person],  accusé  [indicted 
person],  détenu  [convicted  person,  prisoner],  maison 
d'arrêt  "[house  of  correction],  maison  de  justice  or 
maison  de  detention  [jail,  or  prison].  Readers  will 
be  surprised  to  hear  that  our  whole  process  of  criminal 
law  lies  in  those  terms,  which  will  presently  be  ex- 
plained for  the  elucidation  of  our  story.  When  it  is 
known  that  the  first  salad-basket  contained  Jacques 
Collin,  and  the  second  Lucien  de  Rubempré,  fallen  in  a 
few  hours  from  the  summit  of  grandeur  to  a  prisoner's 
cell,  the  curiosity  of  readers  will  be  sufficiently  excited 
to  make  them  glad  of  these  details. 

The  attitude  of  the  two  accomplices  was  character 


236 


Lucien  de  Rubempré. 


istic  Lucien  de  Rubempré  hid  his  face  to  escape  the 
glances  which  the  street  passengers  cast  through  the 
front  grating  of  the  ill-omened  vehicle  as  it  went  from 
the  rue  Saint- Antoine  to  the  quays,  through  the  rue  du 
Martroi  and  the  arcade  of  Saint- Jean,  beneath  which 
it  had  to  pass  in  order  to  cross  the  Place  of  the  Hôtel- 
de-Ville.  To-day  that  arcade  forms  the  entrance  to 
the  house  of  the  prefect  of  the  Seine,  in  the  vast 
municipal  structure.  The  bold  galley-slave,  on  the 
contrary,  held  his  face  as  near  as  he  could  get  it  to 
the  grating,  between  the  policeman  and  the  gendarme, 
who,  certain  of  the  security  of  their  vehicle,  gave  no  heed 
to  the  prisoner,  and  were  talking  of  their  own  affairs. 

The  days  of  July,  1830,  and  their  formidable  whirl- 
wind did  so  overlay  with  their  uproar  anterior  events, 
political  interests  were  so  absorbing  during  the  last  six 
months  of  that  year,  that  few  persons  at  the  present 
moment  remember  the  private,  financial,  or  judicial 
catastrophes,  singular  as  they  were,  which  formed  the 
food  of  Parisian  curiosity  during  the  early  months  of 
that  year.  It  is  therefore  necessary  to  state  how  all 
Paris  was  momentarily  agitated  by  the  news  of  the 
arrest  of  a  Spanish  priest  found  in  the  house  of  a  cour- 
tesan, and  that  of  the  elegant  Lucien  de  Rubempré,  the 
suitor  of  Mademoiselle  de  Grandlieu,  arrested  on  the 
high-road  to  Italy  near  the  little  village  of  Grey  ;  both 
of  them  being  suspected  of  a  murder  the  profits  of 
which  would  have  exceeded  seven  millions.  The  ex- 
citement caused  by  this  scandal  even  surpassed  for 
several  days  the  immense  interest  taken  in  the  last 
elections  under  Charles  X. 

In  the  first  place  this  criminal  affair  involved,  as  a 


Lucien  de  Rubcmpré. 


237 


party  concerned  in  it,  one  of  the  richest  bankers  in 
Paris,  Baron  de  Nucingen.  Then  Lucien,  on  the  eve  of 
becoming  private  secretary  to  the  prime  minister,  be- 
longed to  the  very  highest  circle  of  Parisian  society. 
In  all  the  salons  of  Paris  it  was  remembered  that  the 
beautiful  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse  had  taken  him  up, 
and  that  he  was  then  intimate  with  Madame  de  Se'rizy, 
wife  of  one  of  the  ministers  of  State.  Also,  the  beauty 
of  the  victim  had  remarkable  celebrity  in  the  various 
worlds  which  compose  Paris,  —  the  great  world,  the 
financial  world,  the  world  of  courtesans,  the  world  of 
young  men,  the  literary  world.  For  two  days  all  Paris 
had  been  talking  of  these  arrests.  The  examining 
judge,  on  whom  the  affair  devolved,  Monsieur  Cam- 
usot,  saw  in  it  a  chance  for  his  own  advancement,  and, 
in  order  to  proceed  with  as  much  alertness  as  possible, 
he  had  ordered  the  transference  of  the  two  accused 
persons  from  La  Force  to  the  Conciergerie  as  soon  as 
Lucien  de  Pubempré  should  arrive  from  Fontainebleau. 

Before  entering  into  the  terrible  drama  of  a  crim- 
inal examination,  it  is  necessary  to  explain  the  nor- 
mal process  of  a  case  of  this  kind,  so  that  its  divers 
phases  may  be  better  understood  both  by  Frenchmen 
and  foreigners  ;  who  will  thus  be  enabled  to  appreciate 
more  fully  our  system  of  criminal  law  as  the  legisla- 
tors under  Napoleon  conceived  it.  This  is  all  the 
more  important  because  that  great  and  noble  work  is 
at  this  moment  threatened  with  destruction  by  a  new 
system  calling  itself  reformatory. 

A  crime  is  committed.  If  detected  in  the  act, 
the  suspected  persons  are  taken  to  the  nearest  guard- 
house and  put  in  the  cell  called  in  popular  parlance 


238 


Lucien  de  Eubemprê. 


"  the  violin,"  probably  on  account  of  the  music  —  of 

cries  and  tears  —  that  is  heard  there.  From  there 
they  are  taken  before  the  commissary  of  police,  who 
makes  a  preliminary  inquiry  and  has  the  power  to 
release  them  if  a  mistake  has  been  made  ;  otherwise 
they  are  next  taken  to  the  dépôt,  or  guard-house  of 
the  prefecture,  where  the  police  hold  them  at  the  dis- 
position of  the  prosecuting  officer  and  the  examining 
judge,  who,  being  informed  of  the  affair,  more  or  less 
promptly  according  to  the  gravity  of  the  case,  come  to 
the  dépôt  and  question  the  parties  who  are  in  a  condi- 
tion of  provisional  arrest.  According  to  the  presump- 
tive nature  of  the  case  the  examining  judge  issues  a 
warrant  and  orders  the  accused  person  locked  up  in  a 
house  of  correction.  Paris  has  three  such  houses: 
Saint-Pélagie,  La  Force,  and  Les  Madelonnettes. 

Remark  the  term  "suspected  person"  [inculpé,  in- 
culpated person].  Our  code  has  created  three  essen- 
tial distinctions  in  criminality,  —  inculpation,  arraign- 
ment, indictment.  So  long  as  the  warrant  for  arrest 
is  not  signed,  the  presumed  authors  of  the  crime,  or 
the  grave  misdemeanor,  are  only  suspected  persons  ; 
under  the  warrant  of  arrest  they  become  accused  per- 
sons prévenu'],  and  they  remain  simply  accused  as  long 
as  the  examination  continues.  When  the  examination 
ends  and  the  judge  decides  that  the  accused  persons 
must  be  referred  to  a  court  of  justice,  they  pass  to 
the  condition  of  indicted  persons  [accuse]  as  soon 
as  the  Royal  court  decides,  on  the  application  of  its 
attorney-general,  that  there  is  sufficient  ground  to  send 
the  case  before  the  court  of  assizes.  Thus  persons 
suspected  of  crime  pass  through  three  states,  three 


Lucien  de  Rubemjprê. 


239 


sieves,  preliminary  to  their  appearance  before  what  is 
called  the  justice  of  the  land.  In  the  first  state,  in- 
nocent persons  have  various  means  for  making  known 
their  innocence, — through  the  public,  their  keepers, 
the  police.  In  the  second  state,  they  come  before 
a  magistrate,  are  confronted  with  witnesses,  and 
judged, — in  chambers  in  Paris,  or  by  a  whole  court 
in  the  departments.  In  the  third  state,  they  appear 
before  a  dozen  judges,  and  the  sentence  of  transfer- 
ence to  the  court  of  assizes  may,  in  case  of  error  or 
defect  of  form,  be  carried  by  the  indicted  persons  be- 
fore the  Court  of  Appeals.  A  jury  does  not  know 
how  many  ears  of  municipal,  administrative,  and  judi- 
cial authority  it  boxes  when  it  acquits  an  indicted 
person.  Therefore  it  seems  to  us  that  in  Paris  (we 
are  not  speaking  of  other  places)  it  is  a  difficult  matter 
for  an  innocent  person  ever  to  reach  the  benches  of 
the  court  of  assizes. 

The  convicted  person  [détenu]  is  the  condemned 
man.  Our  criminal  law  has  created  houses  of  correc- 
tion, jails,  and  prisons  [maisons  d'arrêt,  de  justice,  et 
détention],  with  differences  which  correspond  to  those 
of  accused,  indicted,  and  convicted.  The  punishment 
of  mere  incarceration  is  light,  and  is  given  for  the  les- 
ser misdemeanors  ;  that  of  imprisonment  means  bodily 
restraint,  and  is,  in  some  cases,  ignominious.  Those 
who  propose  to-day  a  general  reformatory  system  are 
simply  overthrowing  an  admirable  criminal  equity  of 
graduated  punishment  ;  and  they  will  end  in  punish- 
ing peccadilloes  almost  as  severely  as  great  crimes. 
Compare  the  curious  differences  which  exist  between 
the  criminal  law  of  the  Code  Brumaire,  year  IV. ,  and 
the  Code  Napoleon  which  was  substituted  for  it. 


240  Lucien  de  BubemprS. 


In  nearly  all  great  criminal  cases,  like  the  one  with 
which  we  are  now  concerned,  the  suspected  persons 
become  almost  immediately  accused  persons.  The  law 
at  once  gives  the  warrant  for  removal  to  the  prefecture 
and  the  warrant  of  arrest.  Thus,  as  we  have  seen,  the 
police  and  the  law  both  fell  together  with  the  rapid- 
ity of  lightning  upon  Esther's  house.  Even  if  no  sus- 
picions of  murder  and  revenge  had  been  whispered 
by  Corentin  into  the  ears  of  the  judiciary  police,  the 
Baron  de  Nucingen  had  denounced  a  robbery  of  seven 
hundred  thousand  francs. 

As  the  first  salad-basket,  containing  Jacques  Collin, 
reached  the  dark  and  narrow  passage  of  the  arcade 
of  Saint  Jean,  an  obstruction  of  some  kind  forced  the 
postilion  to  stop  beneath  it.  The  eyes  of  the  accused 
man  shone  through  the  grating  like  a  pair  of  carbun- 
cles, in  spite  of  the  mask  of  death  on  his  features,  to 
which  the  governor  of  La  Force  had  felt  it  his  duty 
to  call  the  attention  of  the  doctor  of  the  prison.  Free 
at  this  moment  (for  neither  the  gendarme  nor  the 
policeman  looked  round  at  their  "customer")  those 
flaming  eyes  spoke  a  language  so  clear  that  a  clever 
examining  judge,  like  Popinot  for  example,  would  have 
recognized  the  galley-slave  in  the  priest.  Jacques 
Collin,  from  the  moment  that  the  salad-basket  issued 
from  the  gateway  of  La  Force,  had  examined  every- 
thing on  the  way.  Though  the  vehicle  was  driven 
fast,  his  eye  took  in  the  houses  with  its  eager  but 
thorough  glance,  from  their  garrets  to  the  street  level. 
He  saw  all  the  passers,  and  analyzed  them.  An 
omniscient  eye  could  scarcely  have  seized  creation,  in 
its  means  and  ends,  more  completely  than  this  mau 


Lucien  de  Bubemprê. 


241 


caught  up  the  slightest  details  in  the  mass  of  things 
and  human  beings  that  passed  him.  Armed  with  a 
hope,  as  the  last  of  the  Horatii  with  his  sword,  he 
expected  succor.  To  any  other  man  than  a  Machia- 
velli  of  the  galleys,  the  hope  would  have  seemed  so 
impossible  to  realize  that  he  would  certainly  have  let 
himself  go  mechanically,  as  most  culprits  do  ;  for  few 
of  them  ever  dream  of  resisting  the  situation  in  which 
the  law  and  the  police  of  Paris  place  accused  persons,  — 
especially  those  who,  like  Jacques  Collin  and  Lucien, 
are  in  solitary  confinement.  It  is  difficult  for  those  at 
large  to  imagine  what  this  sudden  isolation  is  to  the 
accused  person  ;  the  gendarmes  who  arrest  him,  those 
who  convey  him  to  the  lock-up,  the  turnkeys  who  place 
him  in  what  is  literally  a  dungeon,  those  who  take  him 
by  the  arm  and  make  him  mount  the  step  into  the 
salad-basket,  in  short,  all  the  beings  who  surround  him 
from  the  time  of  his  arrest  are  mute,  and  notice  him 
only  to  make  a  record  of  his  words  for  the  police  or 
the  judge.  This  absolute  separation,  so  instantan- 
eously and  easily  brought  about  between  the  whole 
world  and  the  accused  person,  causes  an  upset  of  all 
his  faculties,  and  a  fearful  prostration  of  mind;  above 
all,  when  the  person  happens  to  be  one  not  familiar, 
through  his  antecedents,  with  the  ways  of  the  law.  The 
duel  between  the  accused  man  and  the  examining  judge 
is,  therefore,  all  the  more  terrible  because  the  latter 
has  for  auxiliary  the  silence  of  the  walls  and  the  incor- 
ruptible stolidity  of  the  agents  of  the  law. 

However,  Jacques  Collin,  or  Carlos  Herrera  (it  is 
necessary  to  give  him  both  names,  according  to  the 
exigencies  of  each  situation),  knew  by  long  experience 

16 


242 


Lucien  de  Bubemprê. 


the  ways  of  the  police,  of  jails,  and  of  law.  There- 
fore this  colossus  of  craft  and  corruption  had  employed 
all  the  forces  of  his  rnind,  and  the  resources  of  his  art 
of  counterfeiting,  in  playing  surprise  and  the  guileless- 
ness  of  innocence,  —  all  the  while  giving  the  magis- 
trates the  comedy  of  his  death-agony.  Asia,  that 
knowing  Locusta,  had  given  him  a  poison  modified  to 
a  degree  that  produced  the  semblance  of  mortal  illness. 
The  proceedings  of  Monsieur  Camusot,  the  examining 
judge,  those  of  the  commissary  of  police,  and  the 
activity  of  the  public  prosecutor,  were  all  hampered,  if 
not  annulled,  by  the  action  of  a  fit  of  apoplexy. 

"  He  must  have  poisoned  himself  !  "  cried  Monsieur 
Camusot,  horror-struck  at  the  sufferings  of  the  so-called 
priest,  when  he  was  brought  from  the  attic  in  horrible 
convulsions. 

Four  policemen  had  the  utmost  difficulty  in  getting 
him  down  the  stairs  to  Esther's  chamber,  where  the 
magistrates  and  the  gendarmes  were  assembled. 

"  That  is  what  he  had  better  do  if  he  is  guilty,"  said 
the  public  prosecutor. 

"  Do  you  really  think  him  ill?"  said  the  commissary 
of  police. 

The  police  doubt  everything.  The  three  officials 
were  speaking,  of  course,  in  a  whisper  ;  but  Jacques 
Collin  guessed  from  their  faces  the  subject  they  were 
discussing,  and  he  profited  by  it  to  render  of  no  avail 
the  first  inquiries  which  are  made  at  the  moment  of 
arrest.  He  stammered  a  few  phrases  in  a  mixture  of 
Spanish  and  French  that  conveyed  mere  nonsense. 

At  La  Force  this  comedy  had  an  equal  success,  all 
the  greater  because  the  chief  of  the  detective  brigade, 


Lucien  de  Bubempré. 


243 


Bibi-Lupin,  who  had  formerly  arrested  Jacques  Collin 
at  the  pension  bourgeoise  of  Madame  Vauquer,  was  on 
a  mission  in  the  departments,  and  his  temporary  suc- 
cessor had  never  known  the  famous  convict. 

Bibi-Lupin,  formerly  a  galley-slave,  and  a  compan- 
ion of  Jacques  Collin  at  the  galleys,  was  his  personal 
enemy.  This  enmity  had  its  rise  in  quarrels,  from 
which  Jacques  Collin  always  issued  uppermost,  and  in 
the  supremacy  exercised  by  Trompe-la-Mort  over  the 
other  convicts.  Moreover,  Jacques  Collin  had  been 
during  ten  years  the  providence  of  released  galley- 
slaves,  their  chief,  their  adviser  in  Paris,  the  reposi- 
tory of  their  funds,  and,  consequently,  the  antagonist 
of  Bibi-Lupin  in  his  present  capacity. 

Thus  it  was  that,  although  he  was  au  secret  [in 
solitary  confinement],  he  counted  on  the  absolute 
and  intelligent  devotion  of  Asia,  his  right  arm,  and 
perhaps  on  Paccard,  his  left  arm  ;  for  he  thought 
that  careful  lieutenant  would  return  to  his  duty  as 
soon  as  he  had  put  the  seven  hundred  and  fifty  thou- 
sand francs  in  safety.  This  was  the  reason  of  the 
almost  superhuman  attention  with  which  he  examined 
everything  as  the  salad-basket  went  along.  Singular 
to  say,  this  hope  was  amply  justified  ! 

The  two  stout  walls  of  the  arcade  of  Saint- Jean  were 
splashed  to  a  height  of  six  feet  with  a  permanent  coat- 
ing of  mud  thrown  up  from  the  gutter.  Foot  passen- 
gers had  nothing  to  protect  them  from  the  incessant 
line  of  vehicles  passing  through  the  narrow  way.  More 
than  once  the  heavy  cart  of  some  stone-cutter  had 
crashed  pedestrians.  This  will  show  the  narrowness 
of  the  arcade,  and  the  ease  with  which  it  could  be 


244 


Lucien  de  Rubemprê. 


blocked.  A  hackney-coach  had  just  entered  it  from 
the  Place  de  Grève,  and  an  old  market-woman  was 
pushing  a  little  hand-cart  full  of  apples  from  the  rue 
du  Martroi  ;  a  third  vehicle  coming  along  naturally 
occasioned  an  obstruction.  The  pedestrians  fled  in 
alarm,  seeking  a  post  that  might  protect  them  from 
the  old-fashioned  hubs  to  the  wheels,  which  projected 
so  far  that  a  law  was  actually  passed  about  this  very 
time  to  reduce  them.  When  the  salad-basket  arrived, 
the  arcade  was  fairly  blocked  by  the  old  woman's 
hand-cart.  She  was  a  regular  street-peddler  of  fruits  ; 
her  head,  covered  with  a  dirty  cotton  handkerchief  of 
a  checked  pattern,  bristled  with  rebellious  locks  that 
looked  like  the  hair  of  a  wild-boar.  The  red  and 
wrinkled  neck  was  horrible  to  behold,  and  the  hand- 
kerchief on  her  shoulders  did  not  wholly  hide  a  skin 
that  was  discolored  by  the  sun  and  dust  and  mud. 
Her  gown  was  in  rags,  and  her  shoes  grinned  as  if 
they  were  making  fun  of  her  face,  which  was  quite  as 
full  of  holes  as  her  gown.  And  what  a  stomach  !  —  a 
poultice  would  have  seemed  less  nauseous.  At  a  dis- 
tance of  ten  paces,  this  fetid  and  ambulating  bundle 
of  rags  was  offensive  to  the  nose.  The  hands  must 
have  gleaned  a  hundred  harvests.  Either  this  woman 
had  come  direct  from  a  witch's  sabbath,  or  from  some 
haunt  of  mendicants.  But  what  a  glance  !  what  auda- 
cious intelligence  !  what  concentrated  life  when  the 
magnetic  gleams  of  her  eyes  and  those  of  Jacques  Col- 
lin met  and  exchanged  a  thought  ! 

"Out  of  the  way,  you  old  bundle  of  vermin  !  "  cried 
the  postilion  of  the  salad-basket  in  a  hoarse  voice. 

"  Don't  you  dare  to  crush  me,  hussar  of  the  guillo- 


Lucien  de  Rubemprê. 


245 


tine,  you  î  "  she  replied.  "Your  merchandise  ain't 
worth  mine." 

In  trying  to  squeeze  between  two  posts,  to  get  out 
of  the  way,  the  old  woman  blocked  the  passage  long 
enough  to  accomplish  her  object. 

fc'  Oh,  Asia!"  said  Jacques  Collin  to  himself,  recog- 
nizing his  accomplice  at  once,  "  all 's  well  now  !  " 

The  postilion  continued  to  exchange  amenities  with 
the  crone,  and  the  vehicles  accumulated. 

"  Ahé !  pécairé  fermati.  Sounilà.  Vedremf"  cried 
Asia,  with  the  wild  intonations  common  to  street  ven- 
ders, who  distort  their  words  till  they  become  cabalistic 
to  any  but  a  practised  Parisian  ear. 

In  the  hurly-burly  of  the  street,  and  the  shouts  of 
the  angry  coachmen,  no  one  paid  attention  to  that  sav- 
age cry,  which  seemed  to  be  that  of  the  old  vender. 
But  the  clamor,  perfectly  distinct  for  Jacques  Collin, 
cast  into  his  ear,  in  a  patois  of  Italian  aud  corrupt 
Provençal  previously  agreed  upon,  these  terrible  words  : 
"  Your  poor  little  one  is  taken  ;  but  I  am  on  the  watch. 
You  will  see  me  again." 

In  the  midst  of  the  joy  he  felt  at  this  triumph  over 
the  power  of  the  law.  for  he  knew  he  could  now  estab- 
lish communication  with  the  outside  world,  Jacques 
Collin  was  struck  down  by  so  violent  a  reaction  that  it 
would  have  killed  any  other  man  than  he. 

"Lucien  arrested  !"  he  said  to  himself.  He  came 
near  fainting  away.  This  news  was  more  awful  to 
him  far  than  the  rejection  of  his  last  appeal  had  he 
been  condemned  to  death. 


246 


Lucien  de  Eubempré. 


XVII. 

HISTORY,  ARCHAEOLOGICAL,  BIOGRAPHICAL,  ANECDOTIC  AL, 
AND  PHYSIOLOGICAL  OF  THE  PALAIS  DE  JUSTICE. 

Now  that  the  two  salad-baskets  are  rolling  along 
the  quays,  the  interests  of  our  present  history  require  a 
few  words  on  the  Conciergerie  during  the  time  it  will 
take  those  vehicles  to  arrive  there.  The  Conciergerie, 
historic  name  and  awful  word,  but  thing  more  awful 
still,  plays  its  part  in  all  the  revolutions  of  France, 
and  especially  in  those  of  Paris.  It  has  seen  most  of 
the  great  criminals.  Of  all  the  public  buildings  in 
Paris  this  is  the  most  interesting  ;  it  is  also  the  least 
known  —  by  persons  belonging  to  the  upper  classes  of 
society.  But,  in  spite  of  the  immense  interest  of  this 
historical  digression,  we  must  make  it  as  rapid  as  the 
advance  of  the  salad-baskets. 

Where  is  the  Parisian,  the  provincial,  or  the  for- 
eigner, even  if  the  two  latter  are  but  a  couple  of  days 
in  Paris,  who  has  not  remarked  those  black  walls, 
flanked  by  three  stout  towers  with  pointed  tops  of 
which  two  are  almost  coupled,  the  sombre  and  mys- 
terious ornament  of  what  is  called  the  quai  des 
Lunettes?  This  quay  begins  at  the  Pont  au  Change, 
and  extends  to  the  Pont  Neuf.  A  square  tower,  called 
the  Tour  de  l'Horloge,  from  which  was  given  the  sig- 
nal for  the  Saint-Barthélemy,  —  a  tower  almost  as  tall 


Lucien  de  Ruhempré. 


247 


as  that  of  Saint- Jacques-la-Boucherie, — is  the  begin- 
ning of  the  Palais  and  forms  the  corner  of  the  quay. 
These  four  towers  and  the  walls  are  covered  with  that 
black  shroud  which  drapes  the  front  of  buildings  in 
Paris  that  face  the  north.  Toward  the  middle  of  the 
quay,  at  an  unused  arcade,  begin  a  number  of  private 
buildings  which  were  stopped  by  the  construction  of 
the  Pont  Neuf  in  the  reign  of  Henri  IV.  The  Place 
Royal  was  a  replica  of  the  Place  Dauphine  ;  it  shows 
the  same  system  of  architecture,  and  of  brick  sur- 
rounded by  freestone  angles  and  courses.  The  arcade 
and  the  rue  du  Harlay  indicate  the  limits  of  the  Palais 
on  the  west.  Formerly  the  Prefecture  of  police,  the 
residence  of  the  parliament  judges,  was  joined  to  the 
Palais  ;  and  the  Court  of  the  Exchequer  and  the  Tax 
office  completed  this  abode  of  supreme  law,  once  that  of 
the  sovereign.  Before  the  Revolution,  as  we  can  see,  the 
Palais  really  had  the  isolation  which  the  government 
is  endeavoring  to  create  for  itself  in  these  days. 

This  square,  or  we  might  call  it  this  isle  of  public 
buildings,  among  which  is  the  Sainte-Chapelle,  the 
most  magnificent  gem  in  the  jewel-case  of  Saint  Louis, 
this  space  is  the  sanctuary  of  Paris  ;  it  is  the  sacred 
place,  the  ark  of  the  Lord.  In  the  first  place,  it  was 
the  whole  of  the  primitive  city,  for  the  ground  now 
occupied  by  the  Place  Dauphine  was  a  field  belonging 
to  the  royal  domain,  in  which  was  a  windmill  used 
for  coining  money.  Hence  the  name  of  the  rue  de  la 
Monnaie,  given  to  the  street  that  leads  to  the  Pont 
Neuf.  Hence  also  the  name  of  one  of  the  three  round 
towers  (the  second),  which  is  called  the  Tour  d'Argent, 
which  seems  to  prove  that  money  was  originally  minted 


248 


Lucien  de  Rubempré. 


there.  The  famous  windmill,  which  can  be  seen  on 
the  ancient  maps  of  Paris,  is  apparently  of  later  date 
than  the  money  struck  in  the  palace  itself,  and  was, 
no  doubt,  built  for  some  improvement  in  the  art 
of  minting.  The  first  tower,  which  is  side  by  side 
with  the  Tour  d'Argent,  is  called  the  Tour  de  Mont- 
gomery. The  third,  the  smallest  but  the  best  pre- 
served of  the  three,  for  it  has  kept  its  battlements,  is 
called  the  Tour  Bonbec.  The  Sainte-Chapelle,  with 
its  four  towers  (including  the  Tour  de  l'Horloge), 
defines  distinctly  the  precincts  —  the  perimeter,  as  a 
clerk  in  the  registry-office  might  say  —  of  the  Palais, 
from  the  days  of  the  Merovingians  to  those  of  the  first 
House  of  Valois.  But  for  us,  and  in  consequence  of 
its  transformations,  this  palace  represents  more  espe- 
cially the  epoch  of  Saint  Louis. 

Charles  V.  was  the  first  who  abandoned  the  Palais 
to  the  parliament,  an  institution  then  newly  created, 
and  went  to  live  under  the  protection  of  the  Bastille, 
in  the  famous  hôtel  de  Saint-Paul.  Under  the  last 
Valois,  royalty  removed  from  the  Bastille  to  the 
Louvre,  which  had  been  its  first  bastille,  that  is,  for- 
tress. The  first  dwelling  of  the  kings  of  France,  the 
palace  of  Saint  Louis,  which  has  always  kept  its  name 
of  "Palais"  to  signify  the  palace  par  excellence,  is 
now  completely  enclosed  in  what  is  called  the  "  Palais 
de  Justice."  It  forms  the  basement  or  cellar  of  the 
modern  buildings  ;  for  it  was  built,  like  the  Cathedral, 
in  the  Seine,  but  built  so  carefully  that  the  highest 
water  in  the  river  scarcely  reaches  to  its  lower  steps. 
The  quai  de  l'Horloge  buries  about  twenty  feet  of 
these  ten  times  centennial  buildings.    Carriages  roll 


Lucien  de  Rubemjpré. 


249 


along  on  the  level  of  the  capitals  of  the  strong  col- 
umns that  support  the  three  towers,  the  elevation  of 
which  must,  in  former  times,  have  been  in  harmony 
with  the  elegant  proportions  of  the  palace,  and  grace- 
fully picturesque  on  the  water  side  ;  for  even  to-day 
these  old  towers  rival  in  height  the  tallest  public 
buildings  in  Paris.  When  we  contemplate  this  vast 
capital  from  the  top  of  the  cupola  of  the  Pantheon, 
the  Palais  with  the  Sainte-Chapelle  still  seems  the 
most  stupendous  of  all  the  monumental  buildings  of 
Paris. 

This  palace  of  our  kings,  above  which  you  walk 
as  you  cross  the  floor  of  the  immense  "  Salle  des 
Pas-Perdus,"  was  a  marvel  of  architecture  ;  it  is  so 
still  to  the  intelligent  eyes  of  the  poet  who  studies  it 
while  he  examines  the  Conciergerie.  Alas  !  the  Con- 
ciergerie has  ruthlessty  invaded  this  regal  and  ancient 
palace.  The  heart  bleeds  to  see  how  cells,  corridors, 
lodging-rooms,  and  halls,  without  light  or  air,  have 
been  cut  in  this  magnificent  construction,  where  By- 
zantine, Roman,  and  Gothic  art  —  those  three  aspects 
of  ancient  art  —  were  united  and  reproduced  in  the 
architecture  of  the  twelfth  century.  This  palace  is  to 
the  architectural  history  of  France  in  the  earliest  times 
what  the  Chateau  of  Blois  is  to  the  architectural 
history  of  the  middle  ages.  Just  as  at  Blois,  in  the 
court-yard,  you  can  admire  the  castle  of  the  Comtes  of 
Blois,  that  of  Louis  XII.,  that  of  François  I.,  and  that 
of  Gaston  d'Orléans,  so  at  the  Conciergerie  you  will 
find,  within  one  precinct,  the  characteristics  of  the 
earliest  races,  and  in  the  Sainte-Chapelle  the  architec- 
ture of  Saint  Louis.    Ah,  municipal  council  !  you  who 


250 


Lucien  de  Ruhemprê. 


spend  millions!  put  a  poet  or  two  beside  your  archi- 
tects if  you  would  save  the  cradle  of  Paris,  the  cradle 
of  our  kings,  while  you  busy  yourself  in  bestowing 
upon  Paris  and  its  supreme  court  a  palace  worthy  of 
France.  It  is  a  matter  that  should  be  studied  for 
years  before  you  commit  yourself  to  action.  Build 
a  few  more  prisons  like  that  of  La  Roquette,  and  the 
old  Palais  of  Saint  Louis  could  be  redeemed. 

To-day  many  wounds  have  injured  this  vast  monu- 
ment of  the  past,  sunken  beneath  the  palace  and  the  quay 
like  some  fossil  animal  in  the  clay  of  Montmartre  ;  but 
the  greatest  of  all  is  that  of  having  been  the  Conciergerie  ! 
That  word,  who  does  not  understand  it?  In  the  first 
days  of  the  monarchy  great  criminals  —  the  villains 
(original  name  of  peasants)  and  the  burghers  belong- 
ing to  urbane  or  seigniorial  jurisdictions,  also  the  pos- 
sessors of 44  great  or  little  fiefs  "  —  were  brought  before 
the  king  and  kept  in  the  Conciergerie.  The  original 
Conciergerie  must  have  been  exactly  where  we  find 
the  judicial  Conciergerie  of  the  Parliament  before  1825, 
namely,  under  the  arcade  to  the  right  of  the  grand 
exterior  staircase,  which  leads  to  the  Cour  Royale. 
From  there,  up  to  1825,  all  persons  condemned  to 
death  went  to  the  scaffold.  From  there  issued  all 
great  criminals,  all  victims  of  policy  or  statecraft,  the 
Maréchale  d'Ancre  and  the  Queen  of  France,  Semblan- 
çay  and  Malesherbes,  Damien  and  Danton,  Desrues  and 
Castaing.  The  office  of  Fouquier-Tinville,  like  that  of 
the  present  public  prosecutor,  was  placed  so  that  he  could 
see  the  persons  condemned  by  the  Revolutionary  tri- 
bunal file  in.  That  human  being  transformed  into  an 
axe  could  here  give  a  last  glance  at  his  "  batches." 


Lucien  de  Rubemjprê. 


251 


After  1825,  under  the  ministry  of  Monsieur  de 
Peyronnet,  a  great  change  took  place  at  the  Palais. 
The  old  jailer's  office,  called  the  guichet  of  the  Con- 
ciergerie, in  which  took  place  the  ceremonies  of  regis- 
tration and  of  the  toilette  so-called,  was  closed  up  and 
removed  to  where  it  now  is,  between  the  Tour  de 
T Horloge  and  the  Tour  Montgomery,  in  an  inner  court- 
yard, indicated  on  the  quay  by  an  arcade.  The  salad- 
baskets  enter  this  court-yard,  where  there  is  room  for 
several  to  be  stationed  and  turn  with  ease,  and  even 
find,  in  case  of  riot,  complete  protection  behind  the 
strong  iron  gates  of  the  arcade.  The  Conciergerie  of 
to-day,  scarcely  large  enough  to  hold  the  present  num- 
ber of  indicted  persons  (averaging  three  hundred  men 
and  women),  no  longer  lodges  accused  persons  or  con- 
victed ones,  except  on  rare  occasions  like  that  which 
now  brought  Jacques  Collin  and  Lucien  de  Bubempré 
within  its  walls.  All  those  who  are  confined  there  are 
indicted  persons  who  appear  before  the  court  of  as- 
sizes. Occasionally  the  authorities  permit  some  crim- 
inal of  high  station,  already  sufficiently  dishonored  by 
appearance  in  the  dock  at  the  assizes,  to  undergo 
his  sentence  there  rather  than  in  the  prison  of  Melun 
or  Poissy,  where  the  disgrace  of  the  punishment  would 
be  greater  than  his  crime  deserved.  Ouvrard  pre- 
ferred to  stay  in  the  Conciergerie  rather  than  go  to 
Sainte-Pélagie  ;  and  at  the  present  moment  the  notary 
Lehon  and  the  Prince  de  Bergues  are  undergoing  their 
sentences  there  under  an  arbitrary  tolerance,  but  a 
humane  one. 

Generally,  accused  persons,  whether  they  are  going 
before  the  examining  judge  or  to  the  correctional  police 


252 


Lucien  de  Ruhemprê. 


courts,  are  dropped  by  the  salad-baskets  at  the  Souri- 
cière. The  Souricière  is  exactly  opposite  to  the  jailer's 
office  [guichet],  so-called  from  the  wicket  at  its  en- 
trance. Above  it  is  the  guard-room  of  the  interior 
guard  detailed  from  the  gendarmerie  of  the  depart- 
ment, and  the  staircase  from  below  ends  there.  When 
the  hour  for  the  assembling  of  the  court  arrives,  the 
turnkeys  call  the  names  of  the  accused,  the  gendarmes 
come  down  into  the  Souricière,  and  each  gendarme  takes 
an  accused  person  by  the  arm.  Thus  coupled  they  go 
up  the  staircase,  across  the  guard-room,  along  the  cor- 
ridors to  a  room  adjoining  the  famous  sixth  court- 
room, in  which  are  held  the  sessions  of  the  correctional 
police  court.  Accused  persons  who  go  to  the  Concier- 
gerie for  examination  are  taken  the  same  way.  All 
the  different  offices  of  the  examining  judges  are  in  this 
part  of  the  Palais,  on  different  floors,  and  they  are 
reached  by  wretched  little  staircases,  among  which 
persons  unfamiliar  with  the  Palais  are  certain  to  lose 
their  way.  The  windows  of  these  offices  look  either  on 
the  quay  or  into  the  court-yard  of  the  Conciergerie. 

It  was  here,  therefore,  that  the  salad-basket  contain- 
ing Jacques  Collin  was  making  its  way.  Nothing 
can  be  more  forbidding  than  the  aspect  of  the  place. 
Criminals  and  visitors  see  before  them  two  wrought- 
iron  gates,  six  feet  apart,  always  opening  one  after  the 
other  ;  and  so  scrupulously  is  everything  and  every- 
body watched  that  persons  who  have  permits  to  visit 
the  place  must  pass  the  first  grating  before  the  key 
is  put  into  the  second.  Imagine  therefore  the  diffi- 
culty of  escape  or  of  any  communication  with  the  out- 
side.   The  governor  of  the  Conciergerie  would  smile  in 


Lucien  de  Rubemprê. 


253 


a  way  to  freeze  the  boldest  novelist  who  should  suggest 
a  thing  so  impossible.  In  the  annals  of  the  Concier- 
gerie only  one  escape  is  recorded  ;  that  of  Lavalette  ; 
but  the  certainty  of  august  connivance,  now  proved, 
must  lessen,  to  our  minds,  if  not  the  devotion  of  his 
wife,  at  least  the  danger  of  failure. 

Judging  on  the  spot  the  nature  of  the  obstacles,  the 
greatest  devotees  of  the  heroic  and  marvellous  will 
admit  that  through  all  time  they  have  been  what  they 
still  are,  invincible.  No  description  can  give  an  idea 
of  the  strength  of  those  walls  and  vaulted  ceilings,  — 
they  must  be  seen.  The  number  of  jailers,  turnkeys, 
warders  (call  them  what  you  like)  is  not  as  large  as 
might  be  imagined  ;  there  are  but  twenty.  Their  dor- 
mitory and  their  beds  differ  in  no  degree  from  those 
of  the  "Pistole,"  —  so  named,  no  doubt,  because  in 
former  times  the  prisoners  were  made  to  pay  a  pistole 
a  week  for  their  lodging,  —  the  bareness  of  which  re- 
calls the  cold  attic-rooms  in  which  penniless  great  men 
begin  their  careers  in  Paris. 

These  dormitories  are  to  the  right  of  an  immense 
vaulted  hall,  the  massive  walls  of  which  are  supported 
by  mighty  columns.  On  the  left  is  the  "  greffe"  of  the 
Conciergerie,  — the  registration  office,  where  sit  the  di- 
rector and  his  clerk.  Here  the  accused  person,  or  the 
indicted  person,  is  registered,  described,  and  searched. 
Here  is  decided  the  kind  of  lodging  he  is  to  have, 
which  depends  upon  the  length  of  his  purse.  Opposite 
to  the  wicket  of  this  door  is  a  glass  door,  that  of  a 
parlor,  in  which  the  friends  and  lawyers  of  the  accused 
may  communicate  with  him  through  a  double  grating 
of  wood.    This  parlor  is  lighted  from  the  "  préau," 


254 


Lucien  de  Rubemprê. 


an  inner  court-yard,  where  the  prisoners  are  made  to 
take  air  and  exercise  at  stated  hours. 

The  great  hall,  dimly  lighted  from  these  two  open- 
ings, for  its  solitary  window  looks  upon  the  entrancé 
court-yard,  offers  a  spectacle  and  an  atmosphere  en- 
tirely in  keeping  with  the  preconceived  ideas  of  the 
imagination.  It  is  all  the  more  terrifying  because, 
parallel  with  the  towers,  you  see  openings  into  crypts, 
vaulted,  mysterious,  awful,  without  light,  which  lead 
to  the  dungeons  of  the  Queen  and  Madame  Elizabeth, 
and  to  the  cells  called  "  les  secrets  "  where  persons  who 
are  to  be  kept  in  solitary  confinement  are  put.  This 
labyrinth  of  stone  is  the  subterranean  region  of  the 
present  Palais  de  Justice,  having  in  its  own  great  days 
been  the  "  Palais  "  itself,  the  scene  of  the  fêtes  of 
royalty.  From  1825  to  1832,  it  was  in  this  great  hall, 
between  a  huge  china  stove,  which  warmed  it,  and  the 
first  of  the  iron  gates,  that  the  well-known  operation 
of  the  toilette  was  done.  We  cannot  step  without  a 
shudder  over  the  flags  of  that  pavement  which  have 
received  the  confidences  of  so  many  last  glances. 


Lucien  de  Rubemjprê. 


255 


XVIII. 

HOW  THE  TWO  ACCUSED  PERSONS  TOOK  THEIR 
MISFORTUNE. 

When  the  salad-basket  containing  the  Abbé  Don 
Carlos  Herrera  reached  the  court-yard,  the  half-dying 
man  required  the  assistance  of  two  gendarmes  to  en- 
able him  to  leave  the  horrid  vehicle.  They  each  took 
an  arm,  supported  him,  and  bore  him,  fainting,  into 
the  registration  office.  Thus  dragged  along,  the  suf- 
ferer raised  his  eyes  to  heaven  ;  no  human  face  was 
ever  more  cadaverous,  more  painfully  distorted  than 
that  of  the  unfortunate  Spanish  priest,  who  seemed  on 
the  point  of  giving  up  the  ghost.  When  seated  in  the 
office,  he  repeated  in  a  weak  voice  the  words  he  had 
addressed  to  every  one  since  his  arrest  :  — 

"  I  appeal  to  his  Excellency  the  ambassador  of 
Spain." 

"You  can  say  that,"  replied  the  director,  "  to  the 
examining  judge." 

"Oh,  God!"  sighed  the  priest.  "Can  I  have  a 
breviary?  Will  they  still  refuse  me  a  doctor  ?  I  have 
not  two  hours  to  live." 

As  Carlos  Herrera  was  to  be  kept  in  solitary  con- 
finement, it  was  unnecessary  to  ask  him  if  he  wanted 
the  benefits  of  the  pistole  —  which  means  the  right  of 
occupying  a  room  in  which  the  law  permits  a  little 
comfort  ;  these  rooms  are  situated  at  the  end  of  the 


256 


Lucien  de  Ruhemjprê. 


préau.  The  turnkey  and  the  registration  clerk  went 
phlegmatically  through  the  business  of  receiving  and 
committing  the  prisoner. 

"  Monsieur  le  directeur,"  said  Herrera,  in  broken 
French,  "  I  am  dying,  as  you  see.  Say,  if  you  can, 
to  this  judge  of  whom  you  speak,  that  I  implore  him, 
as  a  favor,  to  do  what  a  criminal  would  fear,  —  to 
let  me  appear  before  him  as  soon  as  possible  ;  for  my 
sufferings  are  really  intolerable,  and  as  soon  as  I  can 
see  him  this  dreadful  mistake  will  end." 

Invariable  rule  !  all  criminals  talk  of  mistakes. 
Go  to  the  galleys  and  question  the  convicts  ;  they  will 
tell  you  they  are  victims  to  some  error  of  the  law. 
The  word,  therefore,  brings  an  imperceptible  smile  to 
the  lips  of  those  who  have  to  do  with  accused,  indicted, 
and  convicted  persons. 

"  I  will  mention  your  requests  to  the  examining 
judge,"  said  the  director. 

"  I  bless  you  for  that,  monsieur,"  replied  Herrera, 
raising  his  eyes  to  heaven. 

As  soon  as  the  formalities  were  over,  Carlos  Herrera, 
supported  under  each  arm  by  two  municipal  guards, 
and  accompanied  by  a  turnkey,  to  whom  the  director 
named  the  solitary  cell  in  which  he  was  to  place  the 
accused  person,  was  conducted,  through  the  subterra- 
nean labyrinth  of  the  Conciergerie  to  a  room  that  was 
perfectly  healthy  (in  spite  of  what  philanthropists  have 
said),  but  without  any  possible  external  communication. 

When  he  had  been  safely  secured  there,  the  jailers, 
the  director,  his  clerk,  and  even  the  gendarmes  looked 
at  each  other  as  if  to  ask  opinions,  and  on  all  these 
faces  a  certain  doubt  was  depicted.    But  on  the  ar- 


Lucien  de  Rubempré. 


257 


rival  of  the  other  accused  person  who  was  now  brought 
in,  they  recovered  their  usual  air  of  complete  indiffer- 
ence. Unless  under  very  extraordinary  circumstances 
the  employes  of  the  Conciergerie  have  little  curiosity; 
criminals  are  to  them  what  customers  are  to  a  barber. 
Thus  formalities  which  would  frighten  the  imagina- 
tion of  others  are  conducted  by  them  as  simply  as 
a  banker  does  business,  and  often  more  politely. 
Lucien's  appearance  was  that  of  a  broken-down  cul- 
prit ;  he  abandoned  himself  wholly  and  allowed  them  to 
do  what  they  pleased  with  him.  From  the  moment  of 
his  arrest  at  Fontainebleau,  the  poet  considered  himself 
ruined  ;  he  felt  that  the  moment  of  expiation  had  come. 
Pale,  undone,  ignorant  of  all  that  had  happened  as  to 
Esther,  he  knew  only  that  he  was  the  intimate  com- 
panion of  an  escaped  galley-slave.  That  situation 
was  enough  to  make  him  foresee  catastrophes  that  were 
worse  than  death.  If  his  thoughts  turned  to  anything 
resembling  a  plan  it  was  to  suicide.  He  wanted  to 
escape  at  any  price  from  the  ignominy  which  he  saw 
before  him  like  a  dreadful  dream. 

Carlos  Herrera  was  placed,  as  the  more  dangerous 
of  the  two  accused  persons,  in  a  cell  built  wholly  of 
stone,  which  derived  its  light  from  one  of  those  little 
inner  courts  of  which  there  are  several  in  the  Palais. 
This  little  place  served  as  préau  or  exercise  yard 
for  the  women's  section  of  the  prison.  Lucien  was 
taken  the  same  way,  but  the  director  had  orders  to 
show  some  special  consideration  for  him,  and  he  was 
placed  in  a  cell  adjoining  the  Pistoles. 

Most  persons  who  have  never  had  anything  to  do 
with  criminal  justice  have  the  blackest  ideas  about 

17 


258 


Lucien  de  Rubempré. 


solitary  confinement.  They  hardly  separate  them  from 
the  old  ideas  of  torture,  unhealthiness  of  dungeons, 
cold  walls  sweating  tears  of  dampness,  brutality  of 
jailers  and  coarseness  of  food,  —  accessories  required 
for  the  drama.  It  may  not  be  useless  to  say  here 
that  these  exaggerations  exist  only  on  the  stage,  and 
make  judges,  lawyers,  officials,  and  all  who  visit  pris- 
ons, either  out  of  curiosity  or  on  errands,  laugh.  No 
doubt  the  time  was  when  imprisonment  was  terrible. 
It  is  quite  certain  that  indicted  persons  under  the  old 
Parliament,  and  in  the  times  of  Louis  XIII.  and  Louis 
XIV.  were  cast  pell-mell  into  a  sort  of  entresol  above 
the  old  "guichet."  The  prisons  were  the  scenes  of 
the  most  awful  crimes  of  the  Revolution  ;  it  is  enough 
merely  to  look  at  the  dungeons  of  the  Queen  and  that 
of  Madame  Elizabeth  to  be  filled  with  the  deepest 
horror  at  the  old  judicial  system.  But  to-day,  though 
philanthropy  has  inflicted  incalculable  evil  on  society,  it 
has  also  produced  some  good  for  individuals.  We  owe 
to  Napoleon  our  criminal  code,  which  (more  than  the 
civil  code,  which  stands  in  urgent  need  of  reform  on  sev- 
eral points)  will  ever  remain  a  noble  monument  to  that 
short  reign.  This  new  code  of  laws  closed  forever  an 
abyss  of  suffering.  And  it  may  be  said  that,  putting 
aside  the  fearful  mental  and  moral  tortures  of  persons 
of  the  upper  classes  who  find  themselves  in  the  grasp 
of  the  law,  the  action  of  this  new  power  is  of  a  gentle- 
ness and  simplicity  which  seem  all  the  greater  because 
unexpected.  Accused  persons  are  certainly  not  lodged 
as  they  would  be  in  their  own  homes,  but  all  neces- 
saries are  found  in  the  prisons  of  Paris.  It  is  not  the 
body  that  suffers  ;  in  fact,  the  mind  is  in  so  agitated 


Lucien  de  Rubemjprê. 


259 


a  state  that  any  form  of  being  ill  at  ease,  even  brutal- 
ity if  it  were  met  with,  can  be  easily  supported.  And 
it  must  be  allowed  that  the  innocent  are  quickly  set  at 
liberty,  especially  in  Paris. 

Lucien  found,  therefore,  in  his  cell  a  reproduction  of 
the  first  room  he  had  occupied  on  his  arrival  in  Paris. 
A  bed  like  those  in  the  poorest  furnished  lodgings  of 
the  Latin  quarter,  chairs  with  straw  seats,  a  table  and 
a  few  utensils  completed  the  furniture  of  a  room  in 
which  were  sometimes  confined  two  indicted  persons  if 
their  behavior  were  good  and  their  crimes  not  danger- 
ous,—  such,  for  instance,  as  forging  and  swindling 
This  resemblance  between  his  point  of  departure,  bright 
with  innocence,  and  his  end  at  the  lowest  step  of  shame 
and  degradation,  was  so  instantly  seized  by  a  last 
flash  of  his  poetic  nature  that  he  burst  into  tears.  He 
wept  for  four  hours,  as  insensible  apparently  to  every- 
thing about  him  as  a  stone  image,  but  suffering  anguish 
from  his  broken  hopes,  his  shattered  social  vanities, 
his  annihilated  pride  ;  degraded  in  that  I  and  all  that 
/represented  of  ambition,  adoration,  luck,  of  the  poet, 
the  Parisian,  the  dandy,  the  man  of  pleasure,  and  of 
social  privilege  and  success  !  All  was  crushed  within 
him  by  this  Icarian  fall. 

Carlos  Herrera,  for  his  part,  walked  round  and 
round  his  cell,  as  soon  as  he  was  alone,  like  the  bear 
in  his  cage  at  the  Jardin  des  Plantes.  He  examined 
the  door  carefully  and  made  sure  that  no  hole,  except 
the  regular  peep-hole  called  the  "  judas,"  had  been 
bored  in  it.  He  sounded  all  the  walls.  He  looked 
up  the  chimney- funnel,  down  which  a  feeble  ray  of 
light  descended,  and  said  to  himself  :  — 


260 


Lucien  de  Rubempré. 


44  I  am  safe." 

Then  he  seated  himself  in  a  corner  where  the  eye  of 
a  turnkey  applied  to  the  peep-hole  could  not  see  him. 
Next  he  took  off  his  wig  and  rapidly  loosened  a  paper 
which  was  fastened  to  the  inside  of  it.  The  side  of  this 
paper  which  the  head  had  touched  was  so  greasy  that  it 
looked  like  the  integument  of  the  wig.  If  Bibi-Lupin 
had  had  the  idea  of  pulling  off  that  wig  to  establish  the 
identity  of  the  Spanish  priest  with  Jacques  Collin,  he 
would  not  have  discovered  the  paper,  so  completely  did 
it  seem  a  part  of  the  wig-maker's  work.  The  other  side 
of  the  paper  was  still  sufficiently  clean  and  white  to  re- 
ceive a  few  written  lines.  The  slow  and  difficult  process 
of  ungumming  the  paper  from  the  wig  had  been  begun 
at  La  Force  ;  two  hours  would  not  suffice  for  the  work, 
and  the  accused  had  already  spent  half  of  the  previous 
day  upon  it.  He  now  began  by  paring  off  the  precious 
paper  so  as  to  get  a  strip  of  four  or  five  lines  in  width  ; 
this  he  divided  into  several  pieces  ;  next,  he  replaced 
his  provision  of  paper  in  the  singular  storehouse  from 
which  he  had  taken  it,  after  having  wet  the  layer  of 
gum-arabic,  by  help  of  which  he  was  able  to  reattach 
it  to  the  wig.  He  then  hunted  through  the  wig  for 
one  of  those  pencils,  slender  as  a  pin,  lately  in- 
vented by  Susse,  which  was  securely  gummed  into  the 
hair.  He  took  a  fragment  of  it  long  enough  to  write 
with  and  small  enough  to  hide  in  a  fold  of  his  ear. 
After  these  preparations,  made  with  the  rapidity  and 
firmness  of  execution  characteristic  of  old  convicts  who 
are  nimble  as  monkeys,  Jacques  Collin  sat  down  upon 
the  side  of  his  bed  and  applied  himself  to  meditate  on 
the  instructions  he  should  give  to  Asia  ;  feeling  abso- 


Lucien  de  Bubemprê. 


261 


lutely  certain  that  she  would  meet  him  somewhere,  for 
he  knew  he  could  rely  on  the  woman's  genius. 

"In  my  first  examination,"  he  said  to  himself,  "I 
played  the  Spaniard,  speaking  broken  French  and 
appealing  to  his  ambassador,  relying  on  diplomatic 
privileges,  and  unable  to  understand  what  was  de- 
manded of  him,  — all  that,  interspersed  with  fainting- 
fits, gasps,  hoax  of  dying.  Better  keep  on  that 
ground.  My  papers  are  all  right.  Asia  and  I  can 
chew  up  Monsieur  Camusot  ;  he 's  not  strong  !  It  is 
Lucien  I  must  think  about  ;  the  question  is,  to  give 
him  moral  strength.  I  must  get  at  the  boy,  at  any 
cost,  and  show  him  a  line  of  conduct,  or  he  will  betray 
himself,  and  betray  me,  and  all  is  lost.  He  must  be 
taught  what  to  say  before  his  examination.  And  then, 
too,  I  want  witnesses  who  '11  prove  that  I  am  a  priest." 

Such  was  the  moral  and  physical  condition  of  the 
two  accused  persons,  whose  fate  depended  at  this  mo- 
ment on  Monsieur  Camusot,  examining  judge  for  the 
first  court  of  the  Seine,  sovereign  disposer,  during  the 
time  that  the  criminal  code  gave  him,  of  the  most 
minute  details  of  their  existence  ;  for  he  alone  could 
permit  the  chaplain,  the  doctor  of  the  Conciergerie, 
or  any  one  else,  no  matter  who;  to  communicate  with 
them. 

No  human  power,  not  the  King,  not  the  Keeper  of 
the  Seals,  nor  the  prime  minister,  can  trench  upon  the 
power  of  the  examining  judge  ;  no  one  can  order  him, 
nothing  can  stop  him.  He  is  a  sovereign,  subject  only 
to  his  own  conscience  and  the  law.  At  this  moment, 
when  philosophers,  philanthropists,  and  newspaper 
writers  are  incessantly  occupied  in  diminishing  social 


262 


Lucien  de  Bubemprê. 


powers,  the  rights  conferred  by  our  laws  on  examining 
judges  have  become  the  objects  of  attack,  the  more 
virulent  because  they  are  almost  justified  by  those 
rights  which  are,  let  us  say  it  here,  excessive.  Never- 
theless, every  man  of  judgment  must  admit  that  these 
rights  ought  not  to  be  attacked.  They  might,  it  is 
true,  in  certain  cases,  be  modified  by  an  exercise  of 
caution.  But  society,  already  much  shaken  by  the 
weakness  and  want  of  intelligence  of  juries,  —  an  au- 
gust institution,  whose  duties  should  not  be  committed 
to  any  but  notable  men,  —  would  be  threatened  with 
ruin  if  this  strong  column  which  supports  our  Criminal 
Law  were  broken.  Arrest  on  suspicion  is  one  of  those 
terrible  necessities,  the  social  danger  of  which  is  coun- 
terbalanced by  its  very  greatness.  Besides,  distrust 
of  the  magistracy  is  the  beginning  of  social  dissolution. 
Reconstruct  the  institution  on  other  bases  ;  demand, 
as  before  the  Revolution,  immense  guarantees  of  prop- 
erty from  the  magistracy  ;  but  believe  in  it  ;  trust  in 
it  ;  do  not  make  it  an  image  of  society  only  to  insult  it. 
In  these  days,  the  magistrate,  paid  like  a  poor  func- 
tionary, has  exchanged  his  former  dignity  for  a  haughty 
and  assuming  manner  which  makes  him  intolerable  to 
the  equals  who  are  given  him  ;  for  haughtiness  and 
assumption  are  an  attempt  at  dignity  without  ground  of 
support.    There  lies  the  evil  of  the  present  institution. 

The  only  real  amelioration  that  should  be  asked  for 
in  the  exercise  of  the  power  given  to  examining  magis- 
trates \_juges  d'instruction'],  is  an  improvement  in  the 
houses  of  correction  [maisons  d'arrêt,  —  the  prisons  to 
which  accused  but  not  convicted  persons  are  taken]. 
Those  of  Paris  should  be  rebuilt,  furnished,  and  ar- 


Lucien  de  Ruhemprê. 


263 


ranged  in  a  manner  to  modify  the  public  ideas  as  to 
the  just  position  of  accused  persons.  The  law  arrest- 
ing such  persons  is  good  ;  the  execution  of  it  is  bad  ; 
and  the  custom  of  the  world  is  to  judge  of  a  law  by  its 
execution.  At  the  present  time  public  opinion  con- 
demns the  accused  person  and  defends  the  indicted 
one,  by  a  curious  contradiction.  Perhaps  this  is  the 
result  of  the  essentially  carping  or  critical  spirit  of 
Frenchmen.  This  inconsistency  in  the  Parisian  public 
was  one  of  the  causes  which  led,  as  we  shall  see,  to 
the  catastrophe  of  the  present  drama. 

To  be  in  the  secret  of  the  terrible  scenes  which  are 
enacted  in  the  office  of  an  examining  judge  ;  to  fully 
understand  the  respective  situations  of  the  two  antago- 
nists, —  the  accused  person  and  the  magistrate,  —  the 
object  of  whose  struggle  is  the  secret  guarded  by  the 
accused  against  the  curiosity  of  the  judge  (who  is 
called,  in  prisoners'  slang,  the  Curious),  we  must  never 
forget  that  the  accused  persons,  who  have  been  in 
solitary  confinement  from  the  moment  of  their  arrest, 
are  ignorant  of  all  that  the  public  says,  all  that  the 
police  and  the  judges  know,  all  that  the  newspapers 
publish,  as  to  the  crime  of  which  they  are  accused. 
Therefore  to  give  an  accused,  held  au  secret,  a  piece 
of  information  such  as  that  Jacques  Collin  had  received 
from  Asia  about  Lucien's  arrest,  was  like  flinging  a 
rope  to  a  drowning  man.  It  resulted,  as  we  shall 
see,  in  defeating  an  effort  which  would  otherwise 
have  ended,  undoubtedly,  in  the  ruin  of  the  galley- 
slave.  These  points  once  explained,  the  least  emo- 
tional person  will  tremble  at  the  effect  produced  by  three 
causes  of  terror,  — isolation,  silence,  and  remorse. 


264 


Lucien  de  fiulempré. 


XIX. 

THE  PERPLEXITIES    OF   AN  EXAMINING   JUDGE  AND  HIS 
CURTAIN  LECTURES. 

Monsieur  Camusot,  son-in-law  of  one  of  the  ushers 
of  the  King's  cabinet,  already  too  well  known  to  our 
readers  to  need  any  explanation  of  his  affiliations  and 
his  position,  was  at  this  moment  in  a  state  of  perplex- 
ity almost  equal  to  that  of  Carlos  Herrera,  in  relation  to 
the  examination  now  before  him.  Formerly  justice  of  a 
provincial  court,  he  had  been  called  from  that  position 
and  appointed  judge  in  Paris  by  the  influence  of  the 
celebrated  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse,  whose  husband, 
equerry  to  the  Dauphin  and  colonel  of  one  of  the  regi- 
ments of  cavalry  of  the  Royal  Guard,  stood  as  high 
in  the  favor  of  the  King  as  his  wife  did  in  that  of 
Madame.  For  a  very  slight  but  important  service 
rendered  to  the  duchess  on  the  occasion  of  a  charge  of 
forgery  brought  against  the  young  Comte  d'Esgrignon 
by  a  banker  of  Alençon  (see  "  The  Gallery  of  An- 
tiquities ")  he  rose  from  being  a  simple  provincial  justice 
to  the  station  of  first  examining  judge  in  Paris.  For 
the  last  eighteen  months  he  had  served  in  the  most 
important  court  of  Paris  ;  and  already  he  had  been 
called  upon,  at  the  request  of  the  Duchesse  de  Mau- 
frigneuse, to  lend  himself  to  the  interests  of  another 
great  lady,  the  Marquise  d'Espard  ;  but  there  he  had 
failed.    Lucien,  as  we  heard  him  say  at  the  beginning 


Lucien  de  Rubemprê. 


265 


of  this  history,  in  order  to  revenge  himself  on  Madame 
d'Espard  had  shown  certain  facts  against  her  to  the 
attorney-general  and  the  Comte  de  Sérizy  at  the 
time  she  tried  to  put  an  injunction  on  her  husband. 
These  two  great  powers  once  secured  by  the  friends 
of  the  Marquis  d'Espard,  the  wife  was  only  saved 
from  open  blame  in  court  by  the  clemency  of  her 
husband. 

The  previous  evening,  when  the  news  of  Lucien's 
arrest  became  known,  Madame  d'Espard  had  sent  her 
brother  to  Madame  Camusot,  and  Madame  Camusot 
had  gone,  incontinently,  to  pay  a  visit  to  the  Marquise 
d'Espard.  On  her  return,  and  just  before  dinner, 
she  called  her  husband  into  the  privacy  of  their  bed- 
chamber. 

"  If  you  can  send  that  little  puppy  Lucien  de 
Rubempré  before  the  court  of  assizes  and  in  such  a 
way  that  he  is  sure  to  be  condemned,"  she  whispered 
in  his  ear,  ' 'you  will  be  made  counsellor  to  the  Royal 
Court." 

"  How  so?" 

''Madame  d'Espard  wants  that  poor  young  fellow 
decapitated.  I  had  cold  chills  down  my  back  as  I 
listened  to  the  hatred  of  a  pretty  woman." 

"Pray  don't  meddle  with  legal  matters,"  replied 
Camusot. 

"I  —  meddle  !  "  she  retorted.  "  Any  one  might  have 
listened  to  us,  without  knowing  what  we  were  talking 
of.  The  marquise  and  I  were  as  delightfully  hypo- 
critical to  each  other  as  you  are  to  me  at  the  present 
moment.  She  said  she  wished  to  thank  me  for  your 
kind  efforts  in  her  affair,  for  though  they  were  unsuc 


266 


Lucien  de  Rubemprê. 


cessf ul,  she  was  none  the  less  grateful.  Then  she  talked 
of  the  terrible  mission  the  law  confided  to  an  examin- 
ing judge  in  this  matter  of  Rubempré.  '  It  is  frightful 
to  think  of  sending  a  human  being  to  the  scaffold  ; 
but  in  this  case,  justice,'  etc.,  etc.  She  deplored 
the  fact  that  a  young  man  brought  to  Paris  by  her 
cousin  Madame  du  Châtelet,  should  have  turned  out 
so  ill.  '  This  is  where  such  corrupt  women,'  she  said, 
4  as  Coralie  and  Esther  lead  a  man.'  And  then  such 
fine  tirades  on  religion,  virtue,  and  charity  !  Madame 
du  Châtelet  had  told  her  that  Lucien  deserved  a  hun- 
dred deaths  for  having  almost  killed  his  mother  and 
sister.  Then  she  talked  of  a  vacancy  in  the  Royal 
Court,  adding  that  the  Keeper  of  the  Seals  was  a  friend 
of  hers.  «  Your  husband,  madame  '  she  said  finally, 
'  has  a  fine  occasion  to  distinguish  himself  '  —  There  !  " 

"  We  distinguish  ourselves  every  day  by  doing  our 
duty,"  said  Camusot. 

"You'll  go  far!  —  you  are  a  magistrate  every- 
where, even  with  your  wife  !  "  cried  Madame  Camusot. 
"  Tiens,  I  have  sometimes  thought  you  were  a  ninny, 
but  to-day  I  admire  you." 

The  magistrate  had  a  smile  upon  his  lips,  of  the 
kind  that  belongs  to  a  magistrate  only,  as  the  smile 
of  a  danseuse  belongs  to  a  danseuse  only. 

"Madame,  may  I  come  in?"  said  the  voice  of 
Madame  Camusot's  waiting-maid  at  the  door. 

"What  is  it?"  said  her  mistress. 

"  Madame,  the  head  maid  of  Madame  la  Duchesse 
de  Maufrigneuse  came  here  while  madame  was  out, 
and  begs  madame,  in  the  name  of  her  mistress,  to  go 
to  the  hôtel  de  Cadigan  without  a  moment's  delay." 


Lucien  de  Rubemjprê. 


267 


"  Put  the  dinner  back,"  said  the  judge's  wife,  re- 
membering that  the  hackney-coachman  was  still  wait- 
ing to  be  paid.  She  got  back  into  the  coach  and 
reached  the  hôtel  de  Cadignan  in  twenty  minutes. 
There  she  was  kept  waiting  alone  for  ten  minutes,  in 
a  boudcir  next  to  the  bedroom  of  the  duchess,  who 
presently  appeared,  resplendent,  for  she  was  just  start- 
ing for  Saint-Cloud  to  dine  at  court. 

4  4  Ah  !  my  dear,  there  you  are  ;  between  you  and  me 
two  words  will  suffice." 

"Yes,  indeed,  Madame  la  duchesse." 

4  '  Lucien  de  Rubempré  is  arrested  ;  youv  husband 
examines  the  affair.  I  guarantee  the  innocence  of  that 
poor  boy  ;  he  must  be  set  at  liberty  within  twenty- 
four  hours.  But  that's  not  all.  Some  one  wants  to 
see  Lucien  privately  to-morrow  in  prison  ;  your  hus- 
band can,  if  he  wishes,  be  present  provided  this  person 
doesn't  see  him.  I  am  faithful  to  those  who  serve  me, 
as  you  know.  The  king  expects  much  from  the  courage 
of  his  magistrates  under  certain  grave  circumstances  in 
which  he  will  soon  be  placed  ;  I  will  put  your  husband 
forward,  and  recommend  him  as  a  man  devoted  to 
the  king  even  at  the  risk  of  his  head.  Our  Camusot 
shall  be  made  councillor,  and  chief-justice  somewhere, 
but  no  matter  where.  Adieu,  I  am  due  at  court; 
you  '11  excuse  me,  I  know.  You  will  not  only  oblige 
the  attorney-general  (whose  name  must  not  be  men- 
tioned in  this  affair),  but  also  a  woman  who  is  deeply 
concerned  about  it,  Madame  de  Sérizy.  So  you  won't 
want  for  supporters.  Now  you  see  what  confidence 
I  place  in  you  ;  I  need  n't  urge  you  to  —  you  know  I  " 

She  put  a  finger  on  her  lips  and  disappeared. 


268 


Lucien  de  Bubemprê. 


"And  I  hadn't  time  to  tell  her  that  Madame 
d'Espard  wants  to  see  Lucien  on  the  scaffold  !  " 
thought  the  judge's  wife  as  she  returned  to  the  hack- 
ney-coach. 

She  reached  home  in  such  a  state  of  anxiety  that 
the  judge  exclaimed  when  he  saw  her  :  — 

"Amélie!  what  is  the  matter?" 

"  We  are  caught  between  two  fires." 

She  related  her  interview  with  the  duchess,  speaking 
in  her  husband's  ear,  for  she  feared  her  waiting-maid 
might  be  listening  at  the  door. 

"Which  of  the  two  is  most  powerful?"  she  asked 
as  she  ended.  "  The  marquise  nearly  compromised 
you  in  that  foolish  affair  of  her  husband's  injunction, 
whereas  we  owe  all  that  we  are  to  the  duchess.  One 
makes  me  vague  promises,  while  the  other  says  dis- 
tinctly, '  You  shall  be,  first,  councillor,  and  then  chief- 
justice.'  God  keep  me  from  giving  you  any  advice  ;  I 
never  meddle  with  legal  matters  ;  but  I  ought  to  tell 
you  faithfully  what  is  said  at  court,  and  what  is  pre- 
paring there." 

"You  don't  know,  Amélie,  what  the  prefect  of 
police  sent  me  this  morning  ;  and  by  whom  ?  by  one  of 
the  most  important  men  in  the  police  of  the  kingdom, 
a  man  named  Corentin,  who  tells  me  that  the  State  has 
certain  secret  interests  in  this  affair.  Come  to  dinner, 
and  let  us  go  to  the  Variétés.  We'll  talk  this  over 
to-night,  for  I  need  your  intelligence,  —  that  of  a  judge 
is  n't  enough." 

Nine-tenths  of  the  judges  will  deny  the  influence  of 
a  wife  over  her  husband  in  such  circumstances  ;  but, 
even  if  it  be  a  marked  social  exception,  it  is  very  cer* 


Lucien  de  Ruhenvpre. 


269 


tain  that  it  is  occasionally  a  fact.  The  magistrate 
is  like  the  priest  ;  in  Paris  especially,  where  the  élite 
of  the  magistracy  are  found,  he  seldom  speaks  of  the 
affairs  of  the  Palais,  unless  they  have  reached  a  ver- 
dict. The  wives  of  magistrates  not  only  affect  to  know 
nothing,  but  they  have,  all  of  them,  sufficient  sense 
of  conventional  propriety  to  know  that  they  would 
injure  their  husbands  if,  being  possessed  of  any  secret, 
they  allowed  it  to  be  seen.  Still,  on  great  occasions 
when  it  is  a  question  of  advancement  depending  on 
such  or  such  a  course,  many  wives  have  assisted,  as 
Amélie  was  now  doing,  their  husbands'  deliberations. 
These  exceptions  of  course  depend  entirely  on  the  re- 
lation of  the  two  characters  in  the  bosom  of  their 
family,  —  in  this  household,  Madame  Camusot  ruled 
her  husband  absolutely. 

"When  everybody  was  asleep  in  the  house,  the  magis- 
trate and  his  wife  sat  down  at  the  desk  on  which  the 
judge  had  already  laid  out  the  papers  of  the  case. 

"  Here  are  the  memoranda  the  prefect  of  police  sent 
me  by  Corentin,"  said  Camusot. 

"  The  Abbé"  Carlos  Herrera. 

"  This  individual  is,  undoubtedly,  the  escaped  convict 
Jacques  Collin,  called  Trompe-la-Mort.  whose  last  arrest 
was  in  the  year  1819.  and  was  made  at  the  domicile  of 
Madame  Vauquer,  keeper  of  a  pension  bourgeoise  in  the 
rue  Xeuve-Saint-Geneviève,  where  he  concealed  himself  under 
the  name  of  Vautrin." 

On  the  margin  of  this  memorandum,  was  written  in 
the  hand-writing  of  the  prefect  of  police  :  — 


270 


Lucien  de  Rubempré. 


"  Orders  have  been  sent  by  telegraph  to  Bibi-Lupin,  chief 
of  the  detective  brigade,  to  return  to  Paris  immediately  to 
assist  in  identifying  this  man,  as  he  personally  knew  Jacques 
Collin,  whom  he  arrested  in  1819  by  the  help  of  a  Demoiselle 
Michonneau." 

The  memorandum  continued  :  — 

"  The  boarders  in  the  Vauquer  house  are  still  living  and 
can  be  summoned  to  identify  him. 

"The  so-called  Carlos  Herrera  is  the  intimate  friend  of 
Monsieur  Lucien  de  Rubempré  ;  to  whom,  for  a  period  of 
three  years,  he  furnished  considerable  sums  of  money,  de- 
rived, evidently,  from  crime. 

"This  intimacy,  if  the  identity  of  the  so-called  Spanish 
priest  and  Jacques  Collin  be  established,  will  prove  guilty 
knowledge  on  the  part  of  the  Sieur  Lucien  de  Rubempré." 

On  the  margin  was  another  note  written  by  the  pre- 
fect of  police,  as  follows  :  — 

"It  is  within  my  personal  knowledge  that  the  Sieur 
Lucien  de  Rubempré  has  deceived  and  misled  many  persons 
as  to  the  source  from  which  he  derived  his  money." 

"  What  do  you  say  to  that,  Amélie  ?  " 

"It  is  very  alarming,"  replied  the  wife.    "  Go  on." 

"  The  substitution  of  the  Spanish  priest  for  the  convict 
Collin  is  probably  the  result  of  some  crime  more  ably  com- 
mitted than  that  by  which  Cogniard  made  himself  the 
Comte  de  Sainte-Hélène." 

"Lucien  de  Rubempré. 

"Lucien  Chardon,  son  of  an  apothecary  at  Angoulême, 
and  whose  mother  was  a  Demoiselle  de  Rubempré,  is  per- 


Lucien  de  Rubemprê. 


271 


mitted  by  an  ordinance  of  the  king  to  take  the  name  of 
Rubempré.  This  ordinance  was  granted  at  the  solicitation 
of  the  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse  and  the  Comte  de  Sérizy. 

"In  182-,  this  young  man  came  to  Paris  without  any 
means  of  subsistence,  in  the  suite  of  Madame  Sixte  du 
Châtelet,  then  Madame  de  Bargeton,  cousin  of  Madame 
d'Espard. 

"  Disloyal  toward  Madame  de  Bargeton,  he  lived  after  a 
time  matrimonially  with  a  Demoiselle  Coralie,  an  actress, 
now  deceased,  of  the  Gymnase,  who  left  Monsieur  Camusot, 
silk-dealer  in  the  rue  des  Bourdonnais,  for  the  said  Lucien 
Chardon. 

"  Plunged  very  soon  into  poverty  by  the  insufficient  means 
of  this  actress  who  supported  him,  he  compromised  his  hon- 
orable brother-in-law,  a  printer  at  Angoulême,  by  uttering 
forged  notes,  for  the  payment  of  which  David  Séchard,  the 
brother-in-law,  was  arrested  during  a  short  stay  made  by 
the  said  Lucien  at  Angoulême. 

"  This  affair  led  to  the  flight  and  disappearance  of  Ru- 
bempré, who  soon  after  reappeared  in  Paris  in  company 
with  the  Abbé  Carlos  Herrera. 

"  Without  known  means  of  subsistence,  the  Sieur  Lucien 
spent,  during  the  first  three  years  after  his  return  to  Paris, 
not  less  than  three  hundred  thousand  francs,  which  he  must 
have  received  from  the  so-called  Abbé  Carlos  Herrera,  — by 
what  right  or  claim  upon  him  ? 

"  He  has,  moreover,  recently  paid  more  than  a  million  for 
the  purchase  of  the  estate  of  Rubempré  to  meet  a  condition 
imposed  on  his  marriage  with  Mademoiselle  Clotilde  de 
Grandlieu.  The  rupture  of  this  marriage  came  about  from 
inquiries  made  by  the  family  of  Grandlieu,  to  whom  the 
Sieur  Lucien  had  stated  that  he  derived  this  sum  from  his 
sister  and  brother-in-law;  these  inquiries,  pursued  chiefly 
by  the  lawyer  Der ville,  showed  that  the  respectable  Séchard 
couple  were  not  only  ignorant  of  the  said  purchase,  but  they 
even  thought  their  brother  deeply  in  debt.    Moreover,  the 


272 


Lucien  de  Ruoemprê. 


property  of  the  Séchard  couple  does  not  amount,  according 
to  their  sworn  declaration,  to  more  than  three  hundred  thou- 
sand francs. 

"  The  Sieur  Lucien  lived  secretly  with  Esther  Gobseck, 
and  it  is  certain  that  moneys  paid  to  that  demoiselle  by  the 
Baron  de  Nucingen  were  transferred  by  her  to  Lucien. 

"  Lucien  and  his  companion,  the  escaped  convict,  have 
been  enabled  to  maintain  themselves  before  the  world  by 
deriving  their  resources  from  the  said  Esther,  who  was 
formerly  a  registered  prostitute." 

In  spite  of  the  repetition  which  these  memoranda 
introduce  into  our  account  of  this  drama,  it  is  neces- 
sary to  report  them  verbatim,  in  order  to  show  the 
part  played  by  the  police  of  Paris.  The  police  have 
records  [dossiers]  of  all  the  families  and  all  the  indi- 
viduals whose  lives  are  in  any  way  suspicious,  or  whose 
actions  are  reprehensible.  They  are  ignorant  of  noth- 
ing. This  enormous  scrap-book,  this  ledger  of  con- 
sciences, is  as  carefully  kept  as  that  of  the  Bank  of 
France  on  fortunes.  Just  as  the  Bank  notes  down  the 
slightest  delay  in  the  matter  of  payments,  weighs  all 
credits,  estimates  capitalists,  following  with  attentive 
eye  all  their  operations,  so  does  the  police  keep  record 
of  the  non-respectability  of  citizens.  Here,  the  inno- 
cent have  nothing  to  fear  ;  the  record  is  only  of  evil, 
but  there  it  is  complete.  No  matter  how  high-placed 
a  family  may  be,  it  cannot  secure  itself  from  this  social 
inquisition.  It  is,  however,  a  power  with  discretion 
equal  to  its  force.  This  immense  quantity  of  reports, 
notes,  dossiers,  memoranda,  this  ocean  of  information, 
sleeps  motionless,  deep  and  calm  as  the  sea  itself. 
When  some  event  occurs,  some  crime  is  committed,  the 


Lucien  de  Ruhemprê. 


273 


law  calls  on  the  police,  and  instantly  a  memorandum 
is  forthcoming  as  to  the  suspected  person,  of  which  the 
judge  takes  cognizance. 

These  dossiers,  however,  in  which  the  accused  per- 
son's antecedents  are  analyzed,  are  mere  sources  of 
information,  which  remain  hidden  at  the  Prefecture  ; 
the  law  can  make  no  legal  use  of  them  ;  they  inform 
the  law,  and  the  law  acts  upon  them  ;  that  is  all. 
These  records  furnish  what  might  be  called  the  reverse 
side  of  the  tapestry  of  crimes,  their  first  causes  —  usu- 
ally otherwise  unknown.  No  jury  would  listen,  and 
the  whole  country  would  rise  in  indignation,  if  any 
word  of  these  memoranda  were  produced  at  the  court 
of  assizes.  It  is  actually  a  case  of  Truth  compelled 
to  stay  at  the  bottom  of  her  well.  No  magistrate, 
after  a  dozen  years'  practice  in  Paris,  is  ignorant  of 
the  fact  that  the  court  of  assizes  and  the  correctional 
police  have  secret  knowledge  of  existing  evils,  which 
are  like  nests  where  flagrant  crimes  have  been  brooded 
and  hatched  ;  he  will  own  that  law  and  justice  do  not 
punish  more  than  half  the  crimes  that  are  committed. 
If  the  public  knew  to  what  an  extreme  the  discretion 
of  the  police  agents  is  carried,  they  would  revere  such 
fine  fellows  as  the  Cheverus.  People  think  the  police 
crafty  and  Machiavellian  ;  they  are  extremely  kind,  — 
but  while  they  listen  patiently  to  outbreaks  of  passion, 
they  obtain  information  and  they  keep  notes  ! 

"We'll  forget  all  that,"  said  the  judge,  replacing 
the  papers  in  a  portfolio  ;  "those  are  secrets  between 
the  police  and  the  law  ;  the  judge  may  decide  what 
they  are  worth;  but  Monsieur  and  Madame  Camusot 
have  known  nothing  about  them." 

18 


274 


Lucien  de  Rubemprè. 


"  Why  do  you  repeat  that?"  said  Madame  Camusot 

"  Lucien  is  guilty,"  said  the  judge,  44  but  of  what?  " 

"A  man  who  is  loved  by  the  Duchesse  de  Maufri- 
gneuse,  the  Comtesse  de  Sérizy,  and  Clotilde  de  Grand- 
lieu  is  not  guilty,"  replied  Amélie;  "the  other  man 
must  have  done  it  all." 

"  But  Lucien  is  an  accomplice,"  cried  Camusot. 

44  Will  you  trust  me?"  said  Amélie.  "  Restore  the 
priest  to  the  diplomacy  of  which  he  is  such  a  noble 
ornament,  declare  that  miserable  little  fool  innocent, 
and  find  some  other  persons  guilty  of  the  crime  —  " 

44  How  you  run  on!"  said  the  judge,  smiling. 
44  Women  fly  to  their  ends  across  the  laws  as  a  bird 
flies  through  air  without  an  obstacle." 

44  But,"  said  Amélie,  44  that  abbé,  diplomat,  or  con- 
vict, as  you  please,  can  certainly  put  you  on  the  track 
of  other  guilty  persons  to  save  himself." 

44  Ah!"  cried  Camusot,  in  admiration  of  his  wife, 
44  I'm  nothing  but  the  cap  ;  you  are  the  head." 

44  Well,  then,  the  session  is  over!  Come  and  kiss 
your  Mélie  ;  it  is  past  one  o'clock." 

And  Madame  Camusot  went  off  to  bed,  leaving  her 
husband  to  sort  his  papers  and  his  ideas  preparatory 
to  the  examination  he  was  to  make  on  the  morrow  of 
the  two  accused  persons. 

Consequently,  while  the  salad-baskets  were  making 
their  way  to  the  Conciergerie,  bearing  Jacques  Collin 
and  Lucien,  the  examining  judge,  after  duly  break- 
fasting, crossed  Paris  on  foot,  according  to  the  simple 
habits  of  the  Parisian  magistracy,  to  reach  his  office, 
where  the  papers  of  his  cases  had  already  arrived  —  in 
this  wise  :  — 


Lucien  de  Bubemprë. 


275 


Every  examining  judge  has  a  clerk,  a  sort  of  sworn- 
in  judicial  secretary,  a  race  which  perpetuates  itself 
without  bounty,  without  encouragement,  producing 
excellent  persons  in  whom  dumbness  comes  naturally 
and  is  absolute.  An  example  of  indiscretion  on  the 
part  of  these  clerks  is  a  thing  unknown  at  the  Palais 
from  the  earliest  parliament  until  now.  The  perspec- 
tive of  a  humble  office  at  the  Palais,  that  of  registrar, 
and  a  conscience  about  his  calling,  suffice  to  render 
the  clerk  of  an  examining  judge  a  successful  rival  to 
the  grave,  —  for  the  grave  gives  up  its  secrets  since  the 
advance  of  chemistry.  This  employe  is  the  very  pen 
of  the  judge.  The  clerk  of  Monsieur  Camusot,  a 
young  man  twenty-two  years  of  age,  named  Coquart, 
had  gone  to  the  judge's  house  in  the  morning  and 
taken  all  the  papers  and  notes  of  the  cases,  which  he 
had  laid  out  in  due  order  in  the  office,  while  the  judge 
was  lounging  along  the  quays,  looking  at  the  novelties 
in  the  shop  windows,  and  asking  himself,  "  How  am  I 
to  deal  with  a  sly  dog  like  Jacques  Collin,  if  Jacques 
Collin  it  is  ?  Bibi-Lupin  will  certainly  recognize  him, 
and  I  must  seem  to  be  doing  my  official  duty,  if  only 
for  the  eyes  of  the  police.  I  do  see  such  impossibil- 
ities that  in  my  opinion  it  would  be  better  to  enlighten 
the  countess  and  the  duchess  by  showing  them  those 
police  notes.  Besides,  I  should  be  revenging  my 
father,  from  whom  Lucien  took  Coralie.  By  unmask- 
ing such  vile  scoundrels  my  ability  will  be  proclaimed, 
and  Lucien  will  soon  be  given  up  by  all  these  friends 
of  his.    Well,  the  examination  will  help  me  to  decide." 

Presently  he  went  into  one  of  the  curiosity  shops, 
attracted  by  a  clock  of  Boule. 


276 


Lucien  de  Eubemprê. 


"Not  to  be  false  to  my  own  conscience  and  yet 
serve  these  two  great  ladies  would  be  a  masterpiece  of 
cleverness,"  thought  he.  "  Why  !  "  he  exclaimed  aloud 
as  he  saw  the  attorney-general,  "  you  here,  Monsieur 
de  Granville  !    Are  you  in  search  of  coins  ?  " 

"That's  a  taste  they  say  belongs  to  all  the  justi- 
ciary," replied  the  Comte  de  Granville,  laughing. 

Then,  after  looking  about  the  shop  for  a  few  min- 
utes as  if  he  were  finishing  his  search,  he  accompanied 
Camusot  along  the  quay  without  any  idea  occurring  to 
the  judge's  mind  that  the  meeting  was  other  than 
accidental. 

"You  are  to  examine  Monsieur  de  Rubempré  this 
morning,  I  am  told,"  said  the  attorney-general.  "  Poor 
young  man!  I  was  very  fond  of  him." 

"There  are  many  charges  against  him,"  said 
Camusot. 

"Yes,  I  have  read  the  police  notes;  but  they  are 
due,  in  part,  to  an  agent  who  does  not  belong  to  the 
Prefecture,  to  the  famous  Corentin,  a  man  who  has 
caused  more  heads  of  innocent  men  to  be  cut  off  than 
you  will  send  guilty  to  the  scaffold  and —  But  the 
fellow  is  beyond  our  reach.  Without  wishing  to  influ- 
ence the  mind  of  a  magistrate  like  yourself,  I  cannot 
help  calling  your  attention  to  the  fact  that  if  you  could 
acquire  a  certainty  that  Lucien  was  ignorant  of  the 
girl's  will,  it  might  be  shown  that  he  had  no  interest, 
bo  far  as  he  was  aware,  in  her  death." 

"We  are  quite  certain  of  his  absence  during  the 
time  the  girl  was  poisoned,"  said  Camusot.  "  He  was 
watching  on  the  road  to  Fontainebleau  for  the  passing 
of  Mademoiselle  de  Grandlieu  and  the  Duchesse  de 
Lenoncourt." 


Lucien  de  Bubemprê. 


277 


"Oh!"  replied  the  attorney-general,  "he  still  re- 
tained such  hopes  about  his  marriage  with  Mademoi- 
selle de  Grandlieu  (so  the  Duchesse  de  Grandlien  tells 
me  herself)  that  it  is  quite  impossible  to  believe  so 
intelligent  a  fellow  would  risk  everything  by  a  useless 
crime." 

"  Yes,"  said  Camusot,  "  more  especially  if  it  is  true 
that  this  Esther  gave  him  all  she  won." 

"  Derville  and  Xucingen  say  she  died  ignorant  of 
the  inheritance,  which  had,  however,  fallen  to  her 
some  time  ago,"  said  the  attorney-general. 

"But  what  do  you  really  think  about  it?"  asked 
Camusot;  "there's  the  crime  at  any  rate." 

"  A  crime  probably  committed  by  the  servants," 
replied  the  attorney- general. 

"  Unfortunately,"  observed  Camusot,  "it  is  more  in 
the  line  of  Jacques  Collin,  —  for  the  Spanish  priest  is 
undoubtedly  that  escaped  convict  ;  he  would  be  the 
most  likely  person  to  rob  the  girl  of  that  seven  hun- 
dred thousand  francs  which  the  Baron  de  Nucingen 
knows  she  had  in  her  possession." 

"  "Well,  you  will  weigh  it  all,  my  dear  Camusot;  be 
prudent.  The  Abbé  Carlos  Herrera  belongs  to  diplo- 
macy ;  though,  of  course,  an  ambassador  who  com- 
mits a  crime  derives  no  immunity  from  his  position. 
Is  he,  or  is  he  not  the  Abbé  Carlos  Herrera?  The 
whole  question  is  there." 

And  Monsieur  de  Granville  bowed  with  the  air  of 
a  man  who  does  not  wish  for  an  answer. 

"He  too  wants  to  save  Lucien,"  thought  Camusot 
as  he  went  along  the  quai  des  Lunettes,  while  the 
attorney-general  entered  the  Palais  by  the  cour  de 
Harlay. 


278 


Lucien  de  Bubempré. 


When  Camusot  reached  the  court-yard  of  the  Con- 
ciergerie he  turned  into  the  director's  office  and  taking 
that  official  by  the  arm  led  him  to  the  middle  of  the 
paved  court  where  no  ear  could  overhear  them. 

"  My  dear  monsieur,"  he  said,  "  do  me  the  kindness 
to  go  yourself  to  La  Force  and  ask  your  colleague 
there  if  he  happens  to  have  at  this  moment  any  con- 
victs who  were  at  the  galleys  in  Toulon  between  the 
years  1810  and  1815  ;  and  ascertain  also  whether  you 
have  any  here  yourself.  If  there  are  any  at  La  Force 
we  will  transfer  them  here  for  a  few  days,  and  you 
must  let  me  know  if  they  recognize  the  Spanish  priest 
as  Jacques  Collin,  called  Trompe-la-Mort." 

"  Very  good,  monsieur  ;  but  Bibi-Lupin  has  arrived." 

4 'Ah  !  "  cried  the  judge. 

"  He  was  at  Melun.  They  have  told  him  that  the 
man  is  thought  to  be  Trompe-la-Mort.  He  smiled  with 
pleasure  and  is  now  waiting  your  orders." 

"  Send  him  to  me." 

The  director  of  the  Conciergerie  then  presented 
Jacques  Collin's  request  to  the  judge,  describing  the 
deplorable  physical  condition  of  the  man. 

"  I  intended  to  examine  him  first,"  said  the  judge, 
"  but  not  on  account  of  his  health.  I  received  a  note 
this  morning  from  the  director  of  La  Force.  It  seems 
that  the  sly  dog,  who  says  he  has  been  at  the  point 
of  death  for  twenty-four  hours,  slept  so  soundly  in 
his  cell  at  La  Force,  that  he  never  heard  the  doctor 
whom  the  director  sent  to  him.  The  doctor  did  not 
feel  his  pulse,  but  let  him  sleep  ;  which  proves,  per- 
haps, that  his  conscience  is  as  sound  as  his  health. 
I  shall  only  believe  in  his  illness  sufficiently  to  let  me 
study  his  game,"  said  Monsieur  Camusot,  smiling. 


Lucien  de  Eubemprê. 


279 


"  One  learns  some  new  thing  every  day  from  these 
prisoners/'  remarked  the  director  of  the  Conciergerie. 

The  Prefecture  of  the  police  communicates  with  the 
Conciergerie  and  with  the  sitting  magistrates  by  means 
of  underground  passages.  This  explains  the  marvel- 
lous rapidity  with  which  the  administration  and  the 
judges  of  the  court  of  assizes  can  obtain  information 
during  sessions.  So  that  when  Monsieur  Camusot 
reached  the  head  of  the  staircase  which  led  to  his 
office  he  found  Bibi-Lupin,  who  had  hurried  up  through 
the  Salle  des  Pas-Perdus. 

"What  zeal!"  said  the  judge,  smiling. 

"  Ah  !  if  it 's  7ie,"  replied  the  detective,  "  you  '11  see 
a  terrible  row  in  the  yard  should  there  happen  to  be 
any  old  galley-slaves  confined  here." 

"Why  so?" 

"Because  Trompe-la-Mort  has  filched  their  funds, 
and  I  know  they  have  sworn  to  exterminate  him." 

4  4  They  "  meant  the  convicts  whose  money,  confided 
for  the  last  twenty  years  to  Trompe-la-Mort,  had  been 
spent  on  Lucien. 

"  Can  you  find  witnesses  of  his  last  arrest?" 

"  Give  me  two  summonses,  and  I  promise  to  bring 
them  to  you  to-day." 

"  Coquart,"  said  the  judge,  taking  off  his  gloves  and 
putting  his  hat  and  cane  in  a  corner,  44  fill  out  two 
summonses  as  monsieur  directs." 

He  looked  at  himself  in  the  mirror  over  the  mantel- 
shelf on  which  stood,  in  place  of  a  clock,  a  ewer  and 
wash-basin,  with  a  bottle  of  water  and  a  glass  on  one 
gide,  and  a  lamp  on  the  other.  The  judge  rang  the 
bell.    An  usher  came,  after  a  time. 


280 


Lucien  de  Bubcmpré. 


44  Are  there  any  persons  waiting?  "  asked  the  judge 
of  the  usher,  whose  business  it  was  to  receive  wit- 
nesses, examine  their  summonses  and  place  them  in 
the  order  of  their  arrival. 

44  Yes,  monsieur." 

44  Take  their  names,  and  bring  me  the  list." 

Examining  judges,  being  chary  of  their  time,  are 
sometimes  obliged  to  carry  on  several  examinations  at 
once.  That  is  the  reason  of  the  long  detention  of  wit- 
nesses who  are  taken  to  the  room  occupied  by  the 
ushers,  into  which  the  bells  of  all  the  examining  judges 
ring. 

44  After  you  have  done  that,"  added  the  judge  to  his 
usher,  44  you  will  go  and  fetch  me  the  Abbé  Carlos 
Herrera." 

44  Ha!"  cried  Bibi-Lupin.  44 1  was  told  he  had 
turned  himself  into  a  priest  and  a  Spaniard.  Pooh! 
that 's  only  a  new  edition  of  Collet." 

44  There  is  nothing  new  under  the  sun,"  remarked 
Camusot,  signing  two  of  those  formidable  summonses, 
which  trouble  the  mind  of  every  one,  even  those  of  the 
most  innocent  witnesses,  whom  the  law  commands  to 
appear,  under  heavy  penalties  if  they  disobey. 


Lucien  de  Rubemprê. 


281 


XX. 

ASIA  AT  WORK. 

Half  an  hour  earlier,  Jacques  Collin  had  ended  his 
deep  deliberations  and  was  fully  under  arms.  Noth- 
ing can  better  depict  this  figure  of  the  people  in  revolt 
against  the  laws  than  the  few  lines  which  he  had 
written  on  his  greasy  bits  of  paper. 

The  meaning  of  the  first  was  as  follows,  for  it  was 
in  a  language  arranged  between  himself  and  Asia, 
a  corruption  of  thieves'  Latin,  —  hieroglyphics  applied 
to  ideas  :  — 

"Go  to  the  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse  or  to  Madame 
de  Sérizy.  One  of  them  must  see  Lucien  before  his  exami- 
nation and  give  him  the  paper  here  enclosed.  Find  our  two 
thieves  ;  tell  them  to  be  ready  to  play  the  part  I  shall  indi- 
cate to  them.  Go  to  Rastignac  ;  tell  him,  from  him  whom 
he  met  at  the  masked  ball,  to  come  here  and  certify  that  the 
Abbé  Carlos  Herrera  does  not  in  any  way  resemble  Jacques 
Collin,  arrested  at  Vauquer's.  Obtain  the  same  of  Doctor 
Bianchon.  Set  Lucien1  s  two  women  at  work  in  the  same 
direction." 

On  the  enclosed  paper  was  written  in  good  French  : 

"  Lucien,  admit  nothing  as  to  me.  I  must  be  to  you  the 
Abbé  Carlos  Herrera.  Not  only  is  this  your  justification, 
but,  if  you  show  firmness  now,  you  will  gain  seven  millions 
and  save  your  honor." 


282 


Lucien  de  Rubemprê. 


These  two  bits  of  paper,  gummed  together  on  the 
written  side  so  that  they  looked  like  a  fragment  of  the 
same  sheet,  were  rolled  up  with  an  art  peculiar  to  those 
who  brood  at  the  galleys  over  means  of  escape.  The 
whole  took  the  form  and  consistence  of  those  wads  of 
wax  which  thrifty  women  apply  to  their  needles  when 
the  eyes  are  broken. 

"If  I  am  examined  first,  we  are  saved;  but  if  it 
is  the  young  one,  all  is  lost,"  he  thought  as  he  sat 
waiting. 

The  tension  was  so  cruel  that  the  strong  man's  face 
was  covered  with  a  white  sweat.  This  stupendous 
being  saw  the  True  in  his  sphere  of  crime,  as 
Molière  in  his  sphere  of  dramatic  poesy,  as  Cuvier 
among  vanished  creations.  Genius  is,  everywhere, 
Intuition.  Below  this  phenomenon  all  other  remark- 
able things  are  done  by  talent.  In  this  consists  the 
difference  which  separates  persons  of  the  first  order 
from  persons  of  the  second  order.  Crime  has  its  men 
of  genius.  Jacques  Collin,  brought  to  bay,  applied  a 
supreme  effort  of  human  intelligence  against  the  steel 
armor  of  the  law. 

As  he  heard  the  heavy  grating  of  the  locks  and  bolts 
of  his  door  Carlos  Herrera  resumed  the  attitude  and 
appearance  of  a  dying  man.  In  this  he  was  aided  by 
the  intoxicating  sense  of  joy  the  jailer's  steps,  pausing 
before  his  door,  had  caused  him.  He  knew  not  by 
what  means  Asia  would  reach  him,  but  he  felt  certain 
he  should  see  her  on  his  way  to  the  judge's  office,  after 
the  promise  she  had  given  him  at  the  arcade  of  Saint- 
Jean. 

Asia,  as  soon  as  that  fortunate  meeting  was  over, 


Lucien  de  Rubemprê. 


283 


had  gone  to  the  Grève,  pushing  the  little  hand-cart 
rapidly  to  the  bottom  of  the  embankment,  where  she 
hid  it  until  such  time  as  its  true  owner,  now  drinking 
the  price  of  its  hire  in  one  of  the  low  wineshops  of  the 
neighborhood,  should  return  to  find  her  property  in 
the  place  agreed  upon.  Asia  then  took  a  hackney- 
coach  on  the  place  de  l'H  tel  de  Ville,  saying  to  the 
driver,  "  To  the  Temple  !  and  quick,  too  !  Il  y  a  gras 
—  there 's  fat  in  it." 

A  woman  dressed  as  Asia  now  was  could  easily,  and 
without  exciting  the  slightest  curiosity,  be  lost  in  the 
throng  of  that  vast  hall  where  all  the  rags  of  Paris 
accumulate,  where  swarm  all  ambulating  peddlers,  and 
the  female  dealers  in  old  clothes  gabble.  The  two 
accused  persons  were  scarcely  in  their  cells  before  she 
was  being  reclothed  in  a  damp  little  room  over  one  of 
those  horrible  shops  where  are  sold  the  remains  of 
materials  stolen  by  tailors  and  dressmakers.  It  was 
kept  by  an  old  spinster  called  La  Eomette,  from  her 
baptismal  name  of  Jéromette.  La  Romette  was  to  the 
marchandes  de  toilette  what  those  resourceful  women 
were  themselves  to  other  women,  called  respectable 
but  embarrassed,  —  a  usurer  at  a  hundred  per  cent. 

"My  dear,"  said  Asia  on  arriving,  "I  must  be 
dressed.  Make  me  a  baroness  of  the  faubourg  Saint- 
Germain  at  the  very  least.  Harness  me  up  quick  !  " 
she  cried  ;  "  my  feet  are  in  boiling  oil  !  You  know 
the  sort  of  gown  I  want.  Out  with  your  rouge  ;  find 
me  some  real  lace,  and  a  watch  and  a  lot  of  charms  to 
sparkle  !  Send  your  girl  to  fetch  a  coach  and  let  it 
wait  at  the  back  door." 

"Yes,  madame,"  said  the  old  maid,  with  the  sub- 


284 


Lucien  de  Rubemprê. 


mission  and  haste  of  a  servant  in  presence  of  hei 
mistress. 

If  this  scene  had  had  a  witness  he  would  have  seen 
at  once  that  the  woman  concealed  under  the  name  of 
Asia  was  the  proprietor  of  the  place. 

"They've  brought  me  diamonds,"  said  La  Romette 
as  she  was  doing  Asia's  hair. 

"  Are  they  stolen?  " 

"I  think  so/? 

"Then,  whatever  the  profit  may  be,  my  dear,  de- 
prive yourself  of  it.  We  have  the  Curious  to  fear  for 
some  time  yet." 

We  may  now  imagine  how  Asia  appeared  in  the 
Salle  des  Pas-Perdus  of  the  Palais  de  Justice,  with  a 
summons  in  her  hand,  asking  to  be  guided  through  the 
corridors  and  staircases  to  the  office  of  Monsieur  Cam- 
usot,  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour  before  the  arrival  of 
that  judge. 

She  no  longer  resembled  herself.  After  washing 
off,  like  an  actress,  her  old  woman's  face,  and  putting 
on  rouge  and  white  paint,  she  had  covered  her  head 
with  an  admirable  blond  wig.  Dressed  precisely  like 
a  lady  of  the  faubourg  Saint-Germain,  she  appeared  to 
be  about  forty  years  of  age,  for  she  had  covered  her 
face  with  a  black  lace  veil.  A  corset  laced  ruthlessly 
tight,  compressed  her  culinary  figure.  Very  well-gloved, 
wearing  a  bustle  of  considerable  dimensions,  she  ex- 
haled as  she  passed  along,  an  agreeable  odor  of  man> 
chale  powder.  Dangling  a  bag  with  a  gold  clasp  in 
her  hand,  she  divided  her  attention  between  the  walls 
of  the  Palais,  which  she  had  entered  apparently  for 
the  first  time,  and  the  chain  of  a  pretty  King  Charles 


Lucien  de  Rubemprê. 


285 


spaniel.  A  dowager  of  this  kind  was  soon  remarked  by 
the  black-robed  denizens  of  the  Salle  des  Pas-Perdus. 

Besides  the  briefless  barristers  who  sweep  that  hall 
with  their  gowns  and  call  distinguished  lawyers  by 
their  baptismal  names  to  give  the  idea  that  they  belong 
to  the  aristocracy  of  their  order,  there  can  often  be 
seen  in  that  huge  lounging-place  patient  young  fellows 
at  the  beck  and  call  of  busy  lawyers,  dancing  attend- 
ance on  the  chance  of  a  case  coming  up  and  requiring 
to  be  argued  when  the  barrister  employed  upon  it  is 
not  at  hand.  It  would  be  a  curious  sight  could  we 
lay  bare  the  varieties  beneath  these  black  gowns  which 
walk  about  this  immense  hall  in  threes  and  sometimes 
in  fours,  producing  by  their  conversation  the  mighty 
hum  which  echoes  through  this  space  so  rightly  named 
the  Hall  of  the  Wasted  Steps,  —  for  this  incessant  tramp- 
ing wears  out  a  lawyer  fully  as  much  as  the  prodigal- 
ities of  speech.  Asia  had  counted  on  meeting  these 
loungers  of  the  Palais  ;  she  laughed  under  her  breath 
at  the  witticisms  she  overheard,  and  finally  attracted 
the  attention  of  Massol,  a  licentiate  not  as  yet  ad- 
mitted to  the  bar,  and  more  interested  in  reporting 
for  the  "  Gazette  des  Tribunaux"  than  in  searching 
for  clients.  He  now,  with  a  smile,  offered  his  services 
to  the  lady  so  richly  dressed  and  agreeably  perfumed. 

Asia,  in  a  mincing  head  voice,  explained  to  this 
obliging  young  gentleman  that  she  was  there  on  the 
summons  of  a  judge  named  Camusot. 

"  Ah  !  in  the  affair  Rubempré?" 

The  case  was  already  named  ! 

"  Well,  it  is  not  myself,  but  my  maid  —  a  girl  who 
calls  herself  Europe.    I  had  her  just  twenty-four  hours 


286  Lucien  de  Ruhemprê. 


and  then  she  ran  away  when  she  saw  my  porter  bring 
nie  this  summons." 

Then,  like  all  old  women  whose  life  is  passed  in 
gossiping  by  their  firesides,  and  instigated  also  by 
Massol,  she  recounted,  with  many  parentheses,  several 
of  the  misfortunes  of'  her  life,  and  the  death  of  her 
husband,  one  of  the  three  directors  of  the  Territorial 
office.  She  consulted  the  young  lawyer  as  to  whether 
she  ought  to  sue  her  son-in-law,  the  Comte  de  Gross- 
Narp,  who  made  her  daughter  very  unhappy,  and 
asked  whether  the  law  allowed  her  to  dispose  of  her 
fortune.  Massol  could  not,  in  spite  of  his  efforts, 
make  out  whether  the  summons  was  for  the  mistress 
or  the  maid.  He  had  only  glanced  at  the  well-known 
paper,  which,  to  save  time,  is  printed,  so  that  the  clerks 
and  judges  are  only  obliged  to  fill  in  the  blank  lines 
left  for  the  names  of  witnesses,  their  address,  and  the 
hour  at  which  they  are  cited  to  appear.  Asia  made 
her  companion  explain  to  her  the  Palais  (which  she 
knew  even  better  than  he  knew  it  himself),  and  finally 
ended  by  asking  him  at  what  hour  Monsieur  Camusot 
would  come. 

"Well,  in  general,  the  examining  judges  begin  their 
inquiry  at  ten  o'clock." 

"It  is  a  quarter  to  ten,"  she  said,  looking  at  a 
pretty  little  watch,  a  triumph  of  the  art  of  jewelry, 
which  made  Massol  think  to  himself  :  — 

"  Where  the  devil  does  fortune  poke  itself." 

By  this  time,  Asia  had  come  as  far  as  the  dark  hall 
looking  out  upon  the  court  of  the  conciergerie,  where 
the  ushers  all  assembled.  Seeing  the  entrance  to  the 
prison  through  the  single  window,  she  exclaimed  :  — 


Lucien  de  Ruhemprê. 


287 


"What  are  those  great  walls  over  there?" 
"  That  is  the  Conciergerie." 

"Ah!  the  Conciergerie,  where  our  poor  queen  — 
How  I  should  like  to  see  her  dungeon  !  " 

"  That  is  impossible,  Madame  la  baronne,"  said  the 
young  lawyer,  who  had  given  his  arm  to  the  dowager. 
"  It  requires  permits,  which  are  very  difficult  to  obtain." 

"They  tell  me,"  she  went  on,  "  that  Louis  XVIII. 
has  himself  written,  in  Latin,  an  inscription  on  the 
walls  of  Marie  Antoinette's  cell." 

u  Yes,  Madame  la  baronne." 

"I  should  like  to  know  Latin  that  I  might  learn 
the  words  of  that  inscription.  Do  you  think  that 
Monsieur  Camusot  would  give  me  a  permit?" 

"  That  is  not  in  his  province.  But  he  could  ac- 
company you." 

"Could  he  leave  his  examinations?"  she  asked. 

"  Oh,"  said  Massol,  "  the  accused  could  wait." 

"  Tiens!  yes,  they  are  accused,  that's  true,"  said 
Asia,  artlessly.  "  But  I  know  Monsieur  de  Granville, 
your  attorney-general." 

This  information  produced  a  magical  effect  upon  the 
lawyer  and  the  ushers  who  overheard  it. 

"Ah!  you  know  the  attorney-general,"  said  Massol, 
who  now  thought  it  worth  while  to  discover  the  name 
and  address  of  the  client  whom  fate  had  brought  him. 

"Yes,  I  often  meet  him  at  the  Sérizys'.  Monsieur 
de  Sérizy  is  a  friend  of  his,  and  Madame  de  Sérizy 
is  a  relation  of  mine,  through  the  Ronquerolles." 

"If  Madame  would  like  to  step  down  to  the  Con- 
ciergerie," said  an  usher,  "she  —  " 

"  Yes,  to  be  sure,"  said  Massol. 


288 


Lucien  de  Rubcmprê. 


The  ushers  allowed  the  lawyer  and  the  baroness  to 
go  down  the  staircase,  and  they  were  soon  in  the  guard- 
room where  the  stairway  from  the  Souricière  ends,  — 
a  place  well-known  to  Asia,  and  which  forms,  as  we 
have  already  shown,  a  post  of  observation  through 
which  every  one  from  the  prison  must  pass. 

44  Ask  these  gentlemen  if  Monsieur  Camusot  has 
come,"  she  said,  observing  the  gendarmes  who  were 
playing  cards  on  a  bench. 

"  Yes,  madame,  he  has  just  come  up  from  the  Sou- 
ricière." 

"  Souricière  !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  what  is  that?  —  Ah  ! 
how  stupid  I  was  not  to  have  gone  directly  to  the 
Comte  de  Granville — I  haven't  the  time  now.  Take 
me,  if  you  please,  to  Monsieur  Camusot  before  he 
gets  to  work." 

"Oh,  madame,  you  have  plenty  of  time  to  see 
Monsieur  Camusot,"  said  Massol.  "If  you  send  in 
your  card  he  will  spare  you  the  annoyance  of  waiting 
in  the  antechamber  among  the  witnesses.  We  have 
some  consideration  at  the  Palais  for  ladies  like  you. 
You  have  your  cards  with  you  ?  " 

At  this  moment  Asia  and  her  lawyer  were  exactly 
in  front  of  the  window  in  the  guard-room  which  com- 
manded the  office  of  the  Conciergerie.  The  gendarmes 
tolerated  for  a  time  the  presence  of  a  baroness  accom- 
panied by  a  lawyer.  Asia  let  the  latter  relate  to  her  the 
various  horrible  things  that  all  young  lawyers  have  to 
tell  about  what  happens  in  that  fateful  office  called 
"  le  guichet."  She  refused  to  believe  that  the  "  toilet 
of  death"  was  made  behind  the  iron  railings  which 
he  pointed  out  to  her  ;  but  the  corporal  of  gendarmes 
confirmed  the  fact. 


Lucien  de  Bub  em  ■pré. 


289 


"  How  I  should  like  to  see  that  !  "  she  said. 

She  stood  there,  chattering  with  the  corporal  and 
the  lawyer  till  she  saw  Jacques  Collin,  supported  by 
two  gendarmes  and  preceded  by  Monsieur  Camusot's 
usher,  come  out  of  the  '  '  guichet." 

"Ah!  here  comes  the  prison  chaplain;  perhaps  he 
is  going  to  prepare  one  of  those  unfortunate  —  " 

"No,  madame,"  said  the  corporal,  "  that  is  an  ac- 
cused person  who  is  coming  to  be  examined." 

"  What  is  he  accused  of?" 

"  He  is  implicated  in  a  poisoning  case." 

"  Oh!  I'd  like  to  see  him." 

"You  can't  stay  here,"  said  the  corporal,  "for  he 
is  in  solitary  confinement  and  he  has  to  pass  through 
this  guard-room.  Here,  madame,  go  through  this 
door  to  the  staircase." 

"  Thank  you,  monsieur,"  said  the  baroness,  going 
towards  the  door  as  if  to  rush  down  the  staircase  ; 
then  she  seemed  to  lose  her  head  and  cried  out, 
"But  where  am  I?" 

Her  voice  was  loud  and  it  reached  the  ears  of  Jacques 
Collin  ;  she  meant  in  this  way  to  prepare  him  to  see 
her.  The  corporal  rushed  at  the  baroness,  seized 
her  round  the  waist,  and  dragged  her  into  the  midst 
of  four  or  five  gendarmes,  who  had  sprung  up  like  one 
man  ;  for  in  this  guard-room  they  distrust  everybody. 
It  was  an  arbitrary  act,  but  a  necessary  one.  The 
lawyer  himself  had  exclaimed,  "  Oh,  madame  !  ma- 
dame  !  "  in  frightened  tones,  so  much  did  he  fear 
being  compromised. 

The  Abbé  Carlos  Herrera,  almost  fainting,  was 
allowed  to  sit  down  for  a  moment  in  the  guard-room. 

19 


290 


Lucien  de  Ruhemprê. 


"  Poor  man  !  "  said  the  baroness.    "  Is  he  guilty?" 

These  words,  though  said  in  the  ear  of  the  young 
lawyer,  were  heard  by  every  one,  for  the  silence  of 
death  reigned  in  the  guard-room.  As  privileged 
persons  were  occasionally  permitted  to  see  famous 
criminals  as  they  passed  from  the  prison  through  this 
guard-room,  the  gendarmes  and  the  judge's  usher  who 
had  charge  of  the  abbé  made  no  observation  on  the 
presence  of  the  baroness.  Besides,  thanks  to  the 
promptness  with  which  the  corporal  had  grasped  her 
person  to  prevent  any  communication  between  the 
accused  and  the  visitor,  a  very  reassuring  space  was 
left  between  them. 

"  Let  us  go  on!"  murmured  Carlos  Herrera,  mak- 
ing an  effort  to  rise. 

At  this  instant  the  little  ball  rolled  from  his  sleeve, 
and  the  place  where  it  stopped  was  noticed  by  the 
baroness,  whose  veil  gave  freedom  to  her  eyes.  Damp 
and  greasy,  it  did  not  roll  away  ;  for  these  little  points, 
apparently  insignificant,  had  all  been  calculated  by 
Jacques  Collin  to  produce  success.  When  the  prisoner 
had  been  taken  up  the  stairs,  Asia  dropped  her  bag  in 
a  natural  manner,  stooped  quickly  to  recover  it,  and  as 
she  did  so  picked  up  the  ball,  the  color  of  which,  being 
that  of  the  dust  and  mud  on  the  floor,  kept  it  from 
being  seen. 

"  Ab  !  "  she  said,  "  it  wrung  my  heart  to  see  him. 
He  must  be  dying." 

"  Or  trying  to  appear  so,"  said  the  corporal. 

"  Monsieur,"  said  Asia  to  the  lawyer,  "  please  con- 
duct me  at  once  co  Monsieur  Camusot  ;  I  have  come 
here  on  this  very  business  ;  he  may  be  very  glad  to 
see  me  before  he  examines  that  poor  abbé." 


Lucien  de  Ruhemprê.  291 


The  lawyer  and  the  baroness  left  the  guard-room 
with  its  fuliginous  and  oleaginous  walls  ;  but  when 
they  reached  the  top  of  the  staircase,  the  baroness 
gave  a  load  exclamation  :  — 

"My  dog!"  she  cried.  u  Oh  !  monsieur,  my  poor 
dog!" 

And  she  darted  like  a  crazy  woman  into  the  Salle 
des  Pas-Perdus,  asking  eveiy  one  if  they  had  seen  her 
dog.  She  reached  the  Galerie  des  Marchandes  and 
ran  toward  a  stairway  calling  out:  "I  see  him! 
There  he  is  !  " 

This  staircase  was  the  one  that  leads  to  the  cour  de 
Harlay,  through  which,  her  comedy  played,  she  passed 
to  the  quai  des  Orfèvres,  where  she  flung  herself  into 
one  of  the  hackney-coaches  which  stand  there,  and 
disappeared,  carrying  with  her  Europe's  summons  and 
the  greasy  wad  of  paper. 

"  Rue  Neuve- Saint-Marc  !  "  she  cried  to  the  driver. 

Asia  could  count  on  the  inviolable  secrecy  of  a  cer- 
tain dealer  in  second-hand  finery  named  Madame 
Nourrisson,  also  known  under  the  name  of  Madame  de 
Sainte-Estève,  who  lent  her  not  only  her  individuality 
but  also  her  shop,  — where  Nucingen  had  bargained 
for  the  delivery  of  Esther.  Asia  was  there  as  though 
she  were  at  home,  for  she  did  actually  occupy  a  room 
in  Madame  Nourrisson's  apartment.  She  paid  the 
fare,  and  went  up  to  her  chamber  bowing  to  Madame 
Nourrisson  in  a  manner  to  let  her  know  she  had  no 
time  to  say  a  word. 

Secure  from  prying  eyes,  Asia  began  to  unfold  the 
papers  with  all  the  care  that  learned  men  give  to  un- 
rolling a  palimpsest.    Having  read  the  instructions, 


292 


Lucien  de  Bubempré. 


she  judged  it  necessary  to  copy  the  note  to  Lucien  on 
clean  note-paper.  Then  she  went  down  to  Madame 
Nourrisson's  room  and  kept  her  talking,  while  a  girl 
from  the  shop  ran  to  call  a  coach  from  the  Boulevard 
des  Italiens.  In  the  course  of  her  talk,  Asia  got  from 
Madame  Nourrisson  the  addresses  of  the  Duchesse  de 
Maufrigneuse  and  Madame  de  Sérizy,  which  Madame 
Nourrisson  knew  through  her  intercourse  with  their 
waiting-maids. 

These  various  trips  and  minute  occupations  took 
over  two  hours.  The  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse,  who 
lived  in  the  upper  part  of  the  rue  Saint-Honoré,  kept 
Madame  de  Sainte-Estève  waiting  more  than  an  hour  ; 
though  the  maid  after  knocking  had  passed  in,  through 
the  door  of  the  boudoir,  the  card  of  "  Madame  de 
Sainte-Estève,"  on  which  Asia  had  written,  "  Come 
on  urgent  business  concerning  Lucien." 

At  the  first  glance  which  she  cast  on  the  duchess 
she  saw  that  her  visit  had  been  ill-timed,  and  she  hast- 
ened to  excuse  herself  on  the  ground  of  the  peril  that 
threatened  Lucien. 

"  Who  are  you?  "  asked  the  duchess,  without  using 
any  form  of  politeness  and  staring  at  Asia,  who  might 
be  taken  for  a  baroness  by  Maître  Massol  in  the  Salle 
des  Pas-Perdus,  but  who,  in  the  little  salon  of  the 
hôtel  de  Cadignan,  presented  the  effect  of  a  spot  of 
cart-grease  on  a  white  satin  dress. 

"  I  am  a  marchande  de  toilette,  Madame  la  du- 
chesse, —  for  in  circumstances  like  these  people  look  for 
assistance  to  those  whose  business  compels  them  to  be 
absolutely  discreet.  I  have  never  betrayed  any  one, 
and  God  knows  how  many  great  ladies  have  trusted 


Lucien  de  Rubcmprê. 


293 


fcheir  diamonds  to  me  for  months  and  borrowed  false 
ones  like  their  own  —  " 

"You  have  another  name?"  said  the  duchess,  smil- 
ing at  a  recollection  this  answer  brought  to  her  mind. 

"  Yes,  Madame  la  duchesse,  I  am  Madame  de  Sainte- 
Estève  on  great  occasions,  but  my  name  in  business  is 
Madame  Nourrisson." 

"Ah!  very  good,"  said  the  duchess,  changing  hei 
tone. 

"  I  can/'  continued  Asia,  "  do  great  services  ;  I  have 
many  secrets  of  husbands  as  well  as  of  wives.  I 
have  had  much  to  do  with  Monsieur  de  Marsay,  whom 
Madame  la  duchesse  —  " 

"Enough!  enough!"  cried  the  duchess;  "let  us 
think  of  Lucien." 

"If  Madame  la  duchesse  wants  to  save  him  she 
must  have  the  courage  not  to  lose  time  in  dressing 
herself  ;  besides,  she  could  hardly  look  better  than  she 
does  now.  You  are  pretty  enough  to  eat,  though  an 
old  woman  says  it!  Don't  order  your  carriage,  ma- 
dame  ;  come  with  me  —  I  have  a  coach  here  —  to 
Madame  de  Sérizy  if  you  wish  to  avoid  greater  evils 
than  even  the  loss  of  that  cherubim." 

"  G-o  on,  I'll  follow  you,"  said  the  duchess  after 
a  moment's  hesitation.  "Between  us  both,"  she  re- 
flected, "  we  ought  to  give  her  the  courage  to  act." 

In  spite  of  the  infernal  activity  of  this  Dorine  of 
the  galleys,  three  o'clock  was  striking  as  she  entered, 
with  the  duchess,  Madame  de  Sérizy's  hôtel  in  the  rue 
de  la  Chaussée-d'Antin.  But  there,  thanks  to  the 
duchess,  not  a  moment  was  lost.  They  were  both 
shown  immediately  into  the  presence  of  the  countess 


294 


Lucien  de  Ricbemprê. 


who  was  lying  on  a  sofa  in  a  miniature  cottage  in  a 
garden  redolent  of  the  perfume  of  flowers. 

"This  is  good,"  thought  Asia,  looking  about  her; 
"no  one  can  overhear  us  here." 

"Ah!  Diane,  I  shall  die!  what  have  you  done?" 
cried  the  countess,  springing  up  like  a  fawn,  and  seiz 
ing  the  duchess  by  the  shoulders  she  burst  into  tears. 

"  Come,  come,  Léontine,  there  are  occasions  when 
women  like  us  should  act  and  not  weep,"  said  the 
duchess,  forcing  the  countess  to  sit  down  beside  her 
on  the  sofa. 

Asia  studied  the  countess  with  that  glance  peculiar 
to  depraved  old  women,  which  travels  over  the  soul  of 
another  woman  as  the  scalpel  of  a  surgeon  round  a 
wound.  Jacques  Collin's  companion  recognized  the 
signs  of  the  rarest  sentiment  ever  found  in  a  woman 
of  the  world,  —  a  true  grief,  the  grief  that  ploughs 
ineffaceable  furrows  in  the  heart  and  face.  The 
countess  had  counted  forty-five  spring-tides.  At  this 
moment  there  was  not  the  slightest  coquetry  in  her  at- 
tire ;  her  muslin  peignoir  rumpled  and  creased  showed 
her  figure  without  the  support  of  a  corset.  The  eyes 
with  their  black  circles  and  the  stained  cheeks  proved 
plainly  enough  her  bitter  weeping.  No  belt  secured 
the  wrapper.  The  hair  gathered  into  a  knot  under  a 
lace  cap  had  not  been  combed  for  twenty-four  hours 
and  revealed  its  thin  short  braid  and  straggling  locks 
in  all  their  poverty;  she  had  even  forgotten  to  put 
on  her  false  hair. 

"  Madame,"  said  Asia,  "  there  is  no  time  to  lose  — n 
Léontine  looked  up  and  saw  the  woman  for  the  first 
time  and  made  a  movement  of  fear. 


Lucien  de  Rubemjpré. 


295 


"Who  is  it,  Diane?"  she  said. 

"  Whom  do  you  suppose  I  should  bring  here,  but 
some  one  devoted  to  Lucien  and  ready  to  serve  us?" 

"Madame,  this  is  no  time  to  whine,  as  the  duchess 
said,"  cried  the  terrible  Asia,  taking  the  countess  by 
the  arm  and  shaking  her.  '  '  If  you  want  to  save  him 
there 's  not  a  momeut  to  be  lost.  He  is  innocent  ;  I 
swear  it  on  the  bones  of  my  mother  !  " 

"Oh  yes!  indeed  he  is,"  cried  the  countess,  look- 
ing kindly  at  the  horrible  creature. 

"But,"  continued  Asia,  "if  Monsieur  Camusot  ex- 
amines him  the  wrong  way,  he  can  make  him  out  guilty 
in  a  couple  of  sentences.  If  you  have  the  power  to 
get  into  the  Conciergerie  and  speak  to  him,  go  in- 
stantly —  instantly  —  and  give  him  this  paper.  If  you 
do  that,  to-morrow  he  will  be  at  liberty,  —  I  guaran- 
tee it." 

"But,"  said  the  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse,  "if  it 
is  all-important  to  prevent  Monsieur  Camusot  from 
examining  him  we  can  do  that  by  writing  him  a  line 
and  sending  it  at  once  to  the  Palais  by  your  footman, 
Léontine  ;  you  can  go  to  see  Lucien  later." 

"  Then  let  us  go  into  the  house,"  said  Madame  de 
Sérizy. 


296 


Lucien  de  Itubempre* 


XXL 

DIAMOND  CUT  DIAMOND  WHICH  WINS? 

Here  is  what  was  happening  at  the  Palais  while 
Lucien's  protectresses  were  obeying  the  orders  sent  to 
them  b}T  Jacques  Collin. 

The  gendarmes  placed  the  half-fainting  man  upon  a 
chair  facing  the  window  in  Monsieur  Camusot's  office  ; 
the  judge  was  sitting  in  his  arm-chair  before  his  desk  ; 
Coquart,  pen  in  hand,  occupied  a  little  table  a  few  paces 
from  the  judge. 

The  arrangement  of  the  office  of  an  examining  judge 
is  not  an  accidental  matter,  and  if  it  is  not  intention- 
ally done  it  must  be  owned  that  chance  has  treated 
justice  like  a  sister.  These  magistrates  resemble  paint- 
ers, —  they  require  a  clear  and  equable  light  coming 
from  the  north  ;  for  the  faces  of  their  criminals  are 
pictures  that  must  be  constantly  studied.  Therefore 
nearly  all  examining  judges  place  their  desks  like  that 
of  Camusot,  turning  their  own  backs  to  the  window  and 
consequently  exposing  the  faces  of  those  the}'  exam- 
ine to  the  light.  Not  one  of  them,  after  exercising 
his  functions  for  six  months  fails  to  assume  an  absent- 
minded,  indifferent  air  during  an  examination  —  unless 
he  wears  spectacles.  It  was  to  a  sudden  change  of 
countenance  detected  by  this  means,  and  caused  by  an 
unanswerable  question  asked  suddenly,  that  Castaing's 


Lucien  de  Bubempré. 


297 


guilt  was  discovered  at  the  ver}-  moment  when,  after 
long  deliberation  with  the  attornej^-general,  the  judge 
was  about  to  let  loose  that  criminal  on  society  for 
want  of  proof.  This  little  detail  will  show  to  the  least 
perceptive  persons  how  keen,  dramatic,  interesting, 
curious,  and  terrible  a  struggle  is  that  of  a  crim- 
inal examination, — a  struggle  without  witnesses,  but 
always  written  down.  God  knows  how  much  remains 
upon  the  paper  of  these  icy-burning  scenes,  in  which 
a  glance,  a  tone,  a  tremor  of  the  face,  the  slightest 
touch  of  color  given  by  a  feeling,  —  all  is  perilous, 
like  the  peril  of  savages  watching  and  stalking  each 
other  to  discovery  and  death.  The  written  record,  the 
procès-verbal,  of  such  a  scene  is  but  the  ashes  of  a 
conflagration. 

1  '  What  are  your  true  names  ?  "  asked  Camusot  of 
Jacques  Collin. 

"  Don  Carlos  Herrera,  canon  of  the  Royal  Chapter  of 
Toledo  ;  secret  envoy  of  his  Majesty  Ferdinand  VII." 

It  is  to  be  remarked  here  that  Carlos  Herrera  spoke 
French  "like  a  Spanish  cow,"  as  the  popular  saying 
is  ;  murdering  it  in  a  way  to  make  his  answers  almost 
unintelligible  and  necessitating  constant  repetition  ;  but 
we  spare  our  readers  the  annoyance  and  delay  of  de- 
ciphering his  words  as  pronounced. 

"  You  have  papers  to  prove  the  status  which  you 
claim?"  asked  the  judge. 

"Yes,  monsieur:  a  passport,  a  letter  from  his 
Catholic  Majesty  authorizing  my  mission  —  But  you 
could  send  immediately  to  the  Spanish  Embassy  two 
lines,  which  I  will  write  before  you,  and  I  should  be 
claimed  there.    If  you  want  further  proof,  I  will  write 


298 


Lucien  de  Bubemprê. 


to  His  Eminence  the  Grand  Almoner  of  France,  and 
he  would  send  his  private  secretary  to  identify  me." 

"Do  you  still  pretend  that  you  are  very  ill?"  said 
Camusot.  "  If  you  had  really  endured  the  sufferings 
you  have  complained  of  since  3'our  arrest  you  would 
have  died  by  this  time,"  remarked  the  judge,  ironically. 

44  You  are  trying  the  courage  of  an  innocent  man, 
and  exhausting  the  strength  of  his  temperament,''  re- 
plied the  accused,  gently. 

"  Coquart,  ring  the  bell,  and  call  for  the  physician 
of  the  Conciergerie  and  his  attendant.  We  shall  be 
obliged  to  take  off  your  coat  and  proceed  to  verify 
the  mark  on  your  shoulder,"  resumed  Camusot. 

44  Monsieur,  I  am  in  your  hands." 

The  accused  then  asked  if  the  judge  would  have  the 
kindness  to  explain  what  that  mark  was,  and  why  they 
should  look  for  it  on  his  shoulder.  The  judge  expected 
the  question. 

44  You  are  suspected  of  being  Jacques  Collin,  an 
escaped  convict,  whose  audacity  flinches  at  nothing,  not 
even  the  sacrilege  of  making  yourself  a  priest,"  said 
the  judge  quickly,  fastening  his  eyes  upon  those  of  the 
prisoner. 

Jacques  Collin  did  not  quiver  or  change  color;  he 
continued  calm  and  assumed  an  air  of  natural  curios- 
ity as  he  looked  at  Camusot. 

44 1!  monsieur,  a  convict?  May  the  Order  to  which  I 
belong  and  God  forgive  you  for  that  mistake.  Tell  me 
all  that  I  ought  to  do  to  keep  you  from  persisting  in 
so  grave  an  insult  to  the  rights  of  individuals,  to  the 
Church,  and  to  the  king  my  master." 

The  judge  explained,  without  replying  to  the  ao 


Lucien  de  Mubemprê. 


299 


cused,  that  if  he  were  branded  on  the  shoulder,  as  the 
law  required  in  the  case  of  convicts  sentenced  to  the 
galleys,  the  letters  would  reappear  when  his  shoulder 
was  struck. 

'  Ah,  monsieur,"  said  the  abbé,  "  it  would  be  sad 
indeed  if  my  devotion  to  the  royal  cause  should  now 
become  an  injury  to  me." 

"  Explain  yourself,"  said  the  judge  ;  "  you  are  here 
for  that  purpose." 

u  Monsieur,  I  have  many  scars  on  my  back  and 
shoulders,  for  I  was  shot  in  the  back  as  a  traitor  to  my 
country,  whereas  I  was  faithful  to  my  king  ;  this  was 
done  by  the  Constitutionals,  who  left  me  for  dead." 

"  You  were  shot,  and  still  live  !  "  said  Camusot. 

" 1  had  friends  among  the  soldiery,  to  whom  pious 
persons  gave  money  ;  they  placed  me  at  such  a  dis- 
tance that  their  balls  were  half  spent  ;  the  soldiers 
aimed  for  the  back.  That  is  a  fact  to  which  his  Excel- 
lency the  Spanish  ambassador  can  certify." 

"  This  devil  of  a  fellow  has  an  answer  to  eveiythiog. 
So  much  the  better,"  thought  Camusot,  who  was  mak- 
ing himself  severe  merely  to  satisfy-  the  requirements  of 
the  law  and  the  police.  "  How  is  it  that  a  man  of 
your  character  was  found  in  the  house  of  Baron  de 
Nucingen's  mistress?  —  and  such  a  mistress,  a  former 
prostitute  !  " 

"  The  reason  that  I  was  found  in  that  house  is  this, 
monsieur,"  replied  Herrera  —  "  But  before  I  tell  you 
the  reason,  I  ought  to  explain  that  I  had  no  sooner 
set  foot  on  the  staircase  than  I  was  seized  with  a  fit 
and  had  no  time  to  speak  to  the  young  woman.  I 
had  received  information  of  her  design  to  kill  herself, 


.300 


Lucien  de  Rubempré. 


and  as  this  matter  concerned  the  interests  of  Lucien 
de  Rubempré,  for  whom  I  have  an  affection  the  motives 
of  which  are  sacred  to  me,  I  went  to  the  house  to  dis- 
suade that  poor  creature  from  the  act  to  which  her  de- 
spair was  leading  her.  I  meant  to  tell  her  that  Lucien 
would  certainly  fail  in  his  efforts  to  marry  Mademoiselle 
de  Grandlieu  ;  that  she  herself  had  inherited  a  great 
fortune  ;  and  I  hoped  in  this  way  to  give  her  courage 
to  live.  I  feel  certain,  monsieur,  that  I  was  made  the 
victim  of  the  political  secrets  intrusted  to  me.  From 
the  way  in  which  I  was  suddenly  overcome,  I  believe 
I  had  been  poisoned  that  morning  ;  but  the  vigor  of 
my  constitution  saved  me.  I  know  that  for  a  long  time 
an  agent  of  the  political  police  has  dogged  me,  and 
he  may  be  endeavoring  to  implicate  me  in  some  dan- 
gerous affair.  If  when  I  was  arrested  you  had  com- 
plied with  my  request  for  a  doctor  you  would  have 
had  the  proof  of  what  I  now  tell  }tou  about  my  health. 
Believe  me,  monsieur,  there  are  persons,  placed  far 
above  us,  who  have  a  strong  interest  in  identifying 
me  with  some  criminal  in  order  to  be  rid  of  me.  It 
is  not  all  gain  to  serve  kings  and  princes  ;  they  have 
their  own  pettiness, — the  Church  alone  is  perfect." 

It  is  impossible  to  render  the  play  of  feature  and  ex- 
pression on  the  face  of  the  speaker,  who  took,  intention- 
ally, ten  minutes  to  deliver  this  tirade,  slowly,  sentence 
by  sentence.  The  whole  was  so  thoroughly  natural 
and  probable,  especially  the  allusion  to  Corentin,  that 
the  judge  was  shaken. 

"  Will  you  confide  in  me  the  cause  of  your  affection 
for  Monsieur  Lucien  de  Rubempré  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Can  you  not  guess  it?    I  am  sixty  years  of  age, 


Lucien  de  Bnbempré. 


301 


monsieur,  and  —  I  beg  you  not  to  write  this  down  — 
he  is  —    Must  I,  absolutely  ?  n 

u  It  is  for  your  interest,  and  above  all  for  that  of 
Lucien  de  Rubempré,  to  tell  the  truth." 

"Then — he  is —  Oh,  heaven!  —  he  is  my  son," 
he  murmured. 

And  he  fainted. 

"  Don't  write  that,  Coquart,"  whispered  Camusot. 

Coquart  rose  to  get  a  bottle  of  pungent  vinegar. 

"If  it  is  Jacques  Collin,  he's  a  great  comedian/' 
thought  Camusot. 

Coquart  made  Herrera  inhale  the  vinegar,  while  the 
judge  sat  watching  him  with  the  mingled  penetration  of 
a  lynx  and  a  magistrate. 

44  You  must  make  him  take  off  his  wig,"  said  Camu- 
sot, waitiag  till  the  man  had  recovered  his  senses. 

Collin  heard  the  words  and  trembled  inwardly,  for  he 
knew  what  a  base  expression  his  whole  countenance 
would  then  assume. 

4  4  If  you  have  not  the  strength  to  take  off  your  wig 
—  yes,  Coquart,  take  it  off,'"'  said  the  judge  to  his 
clerk. 

Herrera  advanced  his  head  to  the  clerk  with  touch- 
ing resignation  ;  but  no  sooner  was  the  head  without 
its  covering  than  it  was  horrible  to  behold,  —  the 
man's  real  character  was  seen.  The  sight  plunged 
Camusot  into  great  uncertainty.  While  awaiting  the 
physician,  he  began  to  classify  and  arrange  the  papers 
and  other  articles  seized  in  Lucien"s  apartments.  After 
searching  poor  Esther's  rooms  in  the  rue  Saint-Georges 
the  police  had  continued  their  inquiry  at  the  house  on 
the  quai  Malaquais. 


302 


Lucien  de  Buhempré. 


"  You  have  in  }'our  hands  the  letters  of  the  Comtesse 
de  Sérizy,"  said  Carlos  Herrera.  "  I  do  not  see  why 
you  should  have  seized  Lucien  de  Rubempré's  papers." 

"  Lucien  de  Rubernpré,  suspected  of  being  your  ac- 
complice, is  arrested,"  said  the  judge,  anxious  to  see 
what  effect  that  news  would  have  on  the  accused. 

"You  have  done  a  great  wrong,  for  Lucien  is  as 
innocent  as  I  am  myself,"  said  Herrera,  without  exhib- 
iting the  slightest  emotion. 

"  That  we  shall  see;  at  present  we  are  establishing 
your  identity,"  said  the  judge,  surprised  at  the  tran- 
quillity of  the  man.  "  If  you  are  really  Don  Carlos 
Herrera,  that  will  immediately  alter  the  situation  of 
Lucien  Chardon." 

"Yes,  she  was  indeed  Madame  Chardon — that  is, 
Mademoiselle  de  Rubempré,"  murmured  Carlos.  "  Ah  ! 
it  was  one  of  the  greatest  faults  of  my  life." 

He  raised  his  eyes  to  heaven,  and,  by  the  way  in 
which  his  lips  moved,  he  seemed  to  be  saying  a  fervent 
prayer. 

"  But,"  added  the  judge,  "  if  you  are  Jacques  Collin, 
Lucien  has,  knowingly,  been  the  companion  of  an  es- 
caped convict,  a  sacrilegious  impostor,  and  the  crimes 
of  which  the  law  suspects  him  become  more  than 
probable." 

Carlos  Herrera  was  iron  as  he  listened  to  this  speech, 
most  ably  delivered  by  the  judge.  For  all  answer  he 
raised  his  hands  with  a  gesture  that  was  nobly  sorrow- 
ful at  the  words  "  knowingly  "  and  "  escaped  convict." 

"  Monsieur  l'abbé,"  said  the  judge,  with  extreme 
politeness,  "  if  }-ou  are  indeed  Don  Carlos  Herrera,  3  0U 
will  pardon  us  for  all  we  have  been  forced  to  inflict 
upon  vou  in  the  interests  of  justice  and  truth." 


Lucien  de  Ruhemjpré. 


303 


Jacques  Collin  guessed  the  trap  that  was  here  set  for 
him,  by  the  mere  inflection  of  the  judge's  voice  as  he 
said  the  words  il  Monsieur  l'abbé,  "  and  his  countenance 
remained  unmoved.  Camusot  expected  a  movement  of 
joy,  which  would  have  been  an  indication  of  a  criminal's 
ineffable  delight  at  having  deceived  his  judge  ;  on  the 
contrar}',  the  hero  of  the  galleys  was  under  the  arms 
of  a  dissimulation  that  was  more  than  Machiavellian. 

"I  am  a  diplomatist,  and  I  belong  to  an  Order  the 
vows  of  which  are  most  austere,"  replied  the  abbé,  with 
apostolic  gentleness.  "  I  understand  all,  and  I  am  used 
to  suffering.  I  should  be  free  already  if  your  police 
had  found  the  hiding-place  of  my  private  papers  ; 
for  I  see  they  have  seized  none  but  those  that  are 
insignificant." 

This  was  a  finishing  blow  for  Camusot.  Carlos 
Herrera  had  already  counterbalanced  by  his  ease  and 
simplicity  all  the  suspicions  that  the  sight  of  his  bald 
head  had  renewed. 

"  Where  are  those  papers?  " 

"  I  will  show  the  place  if  you  will  kindly  allow  your 
delegate  who  takes  me  to  be  accompanied  by  a  secre- 
tary of  legation  from  the  Spanish  Embassy  on  whom 
you  can  rely,  who  must  receive  them  ;  for  the  matter 
concerns  nry  duty.  These  papers  are  diplomatic,  and 
contain  secrets  compromising  the  late  King  Louis 
XVIII.  Ah  !  monsieur,  you  had  better  —  However, 
you  are  the  sole  judge;  besides,  my  -  ambassador,  to 
whom  I  shall  appeal  in  all  this,  will  appreciate  the 
situation." 

At  this  moment  the  physician  and  his  assistant  en* 
tered  the  office,  after  being  announced  by  the  usher. 


304 


Lucien  de  Ruhempré. 


"  Good  morning,  monsieur/'  said  Camusot.  "  I  have 
called  you  to  examine  the  condition  of  the  accused  per- 
son here  present.  He  says  he  is  poisoned,  and  de- 
clares he  has  been  almost  at  the  point  of  death  since 
day  before  yesterday.  See  if  there  is  any  danger  in 
undressing  him  in  order  to  verify  the  existence  of  a 
mark  on  his  shoulder." 

The  doctor  took  the  prisoner's  hand,  felt  his  pulse, 
asked  to  see  his  tongue,  and  looked  him  over  very 
attentively.    The  inspection  lasted  about  ten  minutes. 

"This  person,"  said  the  physician,  "has  suffered 
very  much  ;  but  he  now  has  great  strength." 

"That  factitious  strength  is  due,  monsieur,  to  the 
nervous  excitement  of  my  present  strange  position,"  said 
Jacques  Collin,  with  all  the  dignity  of  a  bishop. 

"  That  ma}'  be,"  said  the  doctor. 

At  a  sign  from  the  judge,  the  prisoner  was  un- 
dressed ;  with  the  exception  of  his  trousers  all  else 
was  taken  off,  even  his  shirt  ;  and  every  one  present 
could  admire  the  hairy  torso  of  C3'clopean  power. 
Here  was  the  Farnese  Hercules  without  his  colossal 
exaggeration. 

"  For  what  does  Nature  destine  men  of  such  a  build 
as  that?"  said  the  doctor  to  Camusot. 

The  usher  now  returned  with  that  species  of  sabre 
made  of  ebony  which  has  been  from  time  immemorial 
among  the  insignia  of  their  functions  and  is  called  a 
rod.  With  it  he  is  struck  several  blows  at  the  place 
where  the  executioner  must  have  applied  the  fatal 
brand.  Seventeen  scars  then  appeared,  capriciously 
scattered  ;  but,  in  spite  of  the  care  with  which  the 
back  was  examined  the  shape  of  no  letter  could  be 


Lîccien  de  RubemprS. 


305 


made  out.  The  usher  called  attention,  however,  to  the 
fact  that  the  bar  of  the  T  was  indicated  by  two  holes 
exactly  as  far  apart  as  the  length  of  the  bar  required, 
and  that  another  hole  was  at  the  exact  place  for  the 
bottom  of  the  same  letter. 

44  But  all  that  is  very  vague,"  said  Camusot,  noticing 
the  doubt  expressed  on  the  doctor's  face. 

Carlos  Herrera  now  requested  that  the  same  thing 
should  be  done  to  the  other  shoulder  and  to  the  back. 
Fifteen  or  more  other  scars  reappeared,  which  the  doc- 
tor made  a  note  of  at  the  request  of  the  Spaniard,  and 
he  declared  that  the  whole  back  had  been  so  riddled 
with  wounds  that  the  branding  could  not  now  be  dis- 
covered were  it  there. 

A  messenger  from  the  Prefecture  of  police  here 
entered  the  room  and  gave  a  note  to  Monsieur  Camu- 
sot,  requesting  an  answer.  After  reading  it,  the  judge 
crossed  over  to  Coquart  and  whispered  something  in 
his  ear,  but  so  low  that  no  other  ear  could  hear  it. 
Only,  from  a  single  glance  in  his  direction,  Jacques 
Collin  felt  certain  that  the  message  came  from  the 
police. 

"  Corentin  is  on  my  heels,  I  know  that,"  thought  he. 
"  I  wish  I  could  see  Asia  again." 

After  signing  a  paper  written  by  Coquart,  the  judge 
put  it  in  an  envelope  and  gave  it  to  the  messenger. 
Then  he  motioned  to  the  doctor  and  his  assistant,  who 
re-dressed  the  prisoner,  and  retired,  together  with  the 
usher.  Camusot  sat  down  to  a  desk  and  played  with  a 
pen. 

"You  have  an  aunt,"  he  said,  abruptly  addressing  the 
accused. 

20 


306  Lucien  de  Rubempré. 


"An  aunt?"  echoed  Carlos  Herrera  in  surprise. 
"Monsieur,  I  have  no  relations;  I  am  the  unrecog- 
nized son  of  the  late  Duke  of  Ossuna." 

To  himself  he  said,  "  They  burn  !"  —  in  allusion  to 
the  game  of  hide  and  seek,  an  infantile  image  of  the 
terrible  struggle  between  justice  and  criminals. 

"Pooh!"  said  Camusot.  "Come,  you  have  an 
aunt,  —  Mademoiselle  Jacqueline  Collin  ;  whom  you 
placed  as  cook  with  Mademoiselle  Esther  under  the 
fantastic  name  of  Asia." 

Herrera  gave  a  careless  shrug  to  his  shoulders  whohy 
in  keeping  with  the  look  of  curiosity  he  showed  on  hear- 
ing this  statement  of  the  judge,  who  was  watching  him 
with  sharp  attention. 

"  Take  care,"  said  Camusot.  "  Listen  to  me 
carefully." 

"  I  am  listening,  monsieur." 

"  Your  aunt  is  a  procuress  in  the  Temple  ;  her  busi- 
ness is  carried  on  by  a  Demoiselle  Paccard,  sister  of  a 
convict,  but  a  very  worthy  woman,  called  La  Romette. 
The  police  are  on  }Tour  aunt's  traces,  and  in  a  few  hours 
we  shall  have  positive  proofs.  The  woman  is  very  de- 
voted to  you  —  " 

"  Go  on,  monsieur,"  said  Herrera,  composedly,  when 
Camusot  paused  as  if  for  a  reply  ;  "I  am  listening  to 
you." 

"  Your  aunt,  who  is  about  five  years  older  than  }tou, 
was  formerly  the  mistress  of  Marat,  of  odious  memory. 
It  was  from  that  bloody  source  that  the  nucleus  of  her 
present  fortune  was  derived.  According  to  informa- 
tion which  I  possess,  she  is  a  very  clever  receiver  of 
stolen  goods  ;  for  as  yet  no  proofs  have  been  obtained 


Lucien  de  Rubemjprê. 


307 


against  her.  After  Marat's  death  she  belonged,  as 
appears  from  reports  which  I  hold  in  my  hand,  to  a 
chemist  condemned  to  death,  in  the  3'ear  VIII.,  for 
coining  false  money.  She  was  a  witness  on  his  trial. 
It  was  through  this  intimacy  that  she  obtained  her 
knowledge  of  poisons.  She  was  a  procuress  from  the 
year  IX.  to  1806.  From  1807  to  1809  she  was  in 
prison  for  the  crime  of  leading  minors  into  debaucheiy. 
You  were  then  being  sought  for  the  crime  of  forgery. 
You  had  left  the  banking-house  in  which  your  aunt  had 
placed  you  as  clerk,  thanks  to  the  education  you  had 
received  and  to  your  aunt's  influence  with  personages 
to  whose  depravity  she  furnished  victims.  All  this 
does  not  comport  with  the  grandeurs  of  the  Dukes  of 
Ossuna.    Do  you  persist  in  your  denials?  " 

Carlos  Herrera  listened  to  Monsieur  Camusot,  think- 
ing the  while  of  his  happy  childhood  in  the  school  of 
the  Oratorians  ;  a  meditation  which  gave  him  a  truly 
astonished  air  at  the  judge's  words.  In  spite  of  Camu- 
sot's  clever  probing,  he  was  unable  to  bring  a  single 
quiver  to  that  placid  countenance. 

"  If  the  explanation  that  I  gave  you  in  the  begin- 
ning has  been  correctly  written  down,"  said  Herrera, 
"  you  should  read  it  over.  I  have  no  change  to 
make  in  it.  I  did  not  actually  enter  the  courtesan's 
house  ;  how  could  I  know  her  cook  ?  I  am  a  total 
stranger  to  the  persons  of  whom  you  speak." 

"  We  shall  proceed,  in  spite  of  your  denials,  to  con- 
front you  with  persons  in  such  a  way  as  to  diminish 
your  assurance." 

"  A  man  who  has  once  been  shot  can  endure  any- 
thing," replied  Herrera,  gently. 


308 


Lucien  de  Rubempré. 


Camusot  returned  to  bis  study  of  the  papers  while 
awaiting  the  arrival  of  the  detective  officer  whose  coin- 
ing had  been  announced  to  him.  It  was  now  half-past 
eleven  ;  the  examination  had  begun  at  ten.  Presently 
the  usher  entered  and  announced  to  the  judge  in  a  low 
voice  that  Bibi-Lupin  had  arrived. 

"  Let  him  come  in,"  replied  Monsieur  Camusot. 

As  he  entered,  Bibi-Lupin  —  from  whom  the  judge 
expected  the  exclamation,  "  That  is  he  !  "  —  stopped 
short  in  surprise  ;  he  did  not  recognize  the  face  of 
his  "customer"  in  that  pock-marked  visage.  This 
hesitation  struck  the  judge  forcibly. 

"  It  is  certainly  his  figure,  his  corpulence,"  said  the 
detective,  —  "Ah!  yes,  that's  you,  Jacques  Collin!  " 
he  exclaimed,  examining  the  e}Tes,  the  cut  of  the  brow, 
and  the  ears.  "  There  are  some  things  that  can't  be 
disguised.  That  is  certainly  he,  Monsieur  Camusot. 
Jacques  has  a  scar  from  the  cut  of  a  knife  on  his 
left  arm  ;  make  him  take  off  his  coat  and  you  will 
see  it." 

Again  the  prisoner's  coat  was  taken  off;  Bibi-Lupin 
rolled  up  the  sleeve  of  his  shirt  and  showed  the  mark. 

"It  was  a  shot,"  said  Carlos  Herrera  ;  "here  are 
several  other  scars." 

"  Ha  !  that 's  his  voice  !  "  cried  Bibi-Lupin. 

"  Your  certainty,"  said  the  judge,  "  is  merely  an 
opinion  ;  it  is  not  proof." 

"I  know  that,"  said  Bibi-Lupin,  humbly.  "But  I 
will  get  you  witnesses.  I  have  brought  with  me  now 
one  of  the  boarders  in  the  Maison  Vauquer,  where  I 
formerly  arrested  him,"  he  added,  looking  fixedly  at 
the  prisoner. 


Lucien  de  Rubemprê. 


309 


The  placid  face  never  changed. 

"Let  that  person  come  in,"  said  Monsieur  Camusot, 
whose  annoyance  was  perceptible  in  spite  of  his  apparent 
indifference. 

This  fact  was  perceived  by  Jacques  Collin,  who 
counted  little  on  the  sj'mpathy  of  an  examining  judge  ; 
and  he  dropped  into  a  sort  of  apathy,  produced  by  the 
intense  meditation  to  which  he  gave  himself  up  in 
searching  for  the  cause  of  it 

The  usher  introduced  Madame  Poiret,  the  unexpected 
sight  of  whom  caused  the  accused  to  quiver  slightly  ; 
but  this  trepidation  passed  unnoticed  by  the  judge, 
whose  attention  was  on  the  witness. 

"What  is  your  name?"  asked  the  judge  beginning 
the  regular  series  of  formalities. 

Madame  Poiret,  a  pale  old  woman  as  wrinkled  as  a 
sweetbread,  dressed  in  a  dark-blue  silk  gown,  stated 
that  her  name  was  Christine-Michelle  Michonneau,  wife 
of  the  Sieur  Poiret,  aged  fifty-one  years,  born  in  Paris, 
and  now  living  rue  de  Poules,  corner  of  the  rue  des 
Postes,  where  she  kept  furnished  lodgings. 

"  You  lived,  madame,"  said  the  judge,  "  in  1818  and 
1819  in  a  pension  bourgeoise,  kept  by  a  Madame 
Vauquer,  did  you  not?" 

"  Yes,  monsieur  ;  that  is  where  I  made  the  acquaint- 
ance of  Monsieur  Poiret,  a  retired  government-clerk, 
who  became  nry  husband,  and  whom  I  have  nursed  in 
his  bed,  poor  man,  for  the  last  year  ;  for  he 's  very  ill. 
Therefore  I  cannot  leave  my  house  for  any  length  of 
time." 

"Was  there  a  certain  Yautrin  in  that  boarding 
house  ?  "  began  the  judge. 


310 


Lucien  de  Rubemjprê. 


"Oh!  monsieur,  that's  a  long  history;  he  was  a 
dreadful  galley-slave." 

44 You  assisted  in  arresting  him?" 
44  That  is  false,  monsieur." 

44  Take  care  ;  you  are  before  the  law,"  said  the  judge, 
sternly. 

Madame  Poiret  kept  silence. 

44  Consult  your  memory,"  resumed  the  judge.  "Can 
you  recollect  the  man?  Should  you  recognize  him  if 
you  saw  him?" 

44 1  think  so." 

44  Is  that  the  man?"  asked  the  judge. 

Madame  Poiret  put  on  her  glasses  and  looked  at  the 
Abbé  Carlos  Herrera. 

44  That's  his  build,  his  figure,  but  —  no  —  3~es  — 
Monsieur,"  she  said,  44  if  I  could  see  his  breast  bare, 
I  should  recognize  it  in  a  minute." 

The  judge  and  his  clerk  could  not  help  laughing,  in 
defiance  of  the  solemnity  of  their  functions.  Jacques 
Collin  shared  their  hilarity,  but  with  more  restraint.  He 
had  not  replaced  the  coat  taken  off  by  Bibi-Lupin,  and, 
at  a  sign  from  the  judge,  he  readily  opened  his  shirt. 

44  That's  his  hairy  breast!  but  you 've  turned  gray, 
Monsieur  Vautrin,"  cried  Madame  Poiret. 

44  What  do  you  answer  to  that?  "  asked  the  judge. 

44  That  she  is  crazy,"  replied  Jacques  Collin. 

44  Ah  heavens!  if  I  had  a  doubt  —  for  it  isn't  the 
same  face  —  that  voice  would  be  enough,  that 's  the  voice 
that  threatened  me  !    Yes,  and  that 's  his  look,  too  !" 

44  The  agent  of  the  detective  police  and  this  woman," 
said  the  judge,  addressing  Jacques  Collin,  44  have  had 
no  opportunity  to  consult  each  other,  and  yet  they 


Lucien  de  Rubempré. 


311 


agree  on  the  same  resemblances.  How  do  you  explain 
that?" 

"Justice  has  often  committed  even  greater  errors 
than  that  of  relying  on  the  testimony  of  a  woman  who 
recognizes  a  man  b}T  the  hair  of  his  breast,  and  on 
the  mere  suspicions  of  a  detective,"  replied  Jacques 
Collin.  ft  They  find  in  me  resemblances  of  voice,  look, 
and  figure  to  a  great  criminal,  but  that  is  very  vague. 
As  for  the  reminiscence  which  proves  relations  between 
madame  and  my  double,  at  which  she  seems  not  to  blush, 
you  have  laughed  at  them  yourself.  Will  you,  mon- 
sieur, in  the  interests  of  truth,  which  I  desire  to  estab- 
lish for  my  own  sake  far  more  than  you  can  wish  it 
for  justice,  will  you  kindly  ask  Madame  —  Foi  —  " 

"  Poiret." 

"Poret.  Excuse  me,  I  am  Spanish  —  whether  she 
remembers  the  other  persons  who  lived  in  that  —  what 
did  you  call  the  house  ?  " 

"Pension  bourgeoise  "  said  Madame  Poiret. 

44 1  dont  know  what  that  is,"  said  Jacques  Collin. 

44  A  house  where  people  dine  and  breakfast  by  subscrip- 
tion," replied  the  former  Mademoiselle  Michonneau. 

"  You  are  right,"  cried  Camusot,  who  nodded  his 
head  in  approval  of  Jacques  Collin,  so  much  was  he 
struck  by  the  apparent  good  faith  with  which  the 
accused  offered  him  the  means  of  reaching  a  result. 
Madame,  try,  if  you  please,  to  remember  the  names  of 
the  persons  who  lived  in  the  pension  at  the  time  of 
Jacques  Collin's  arrest." 

44  There  was  a  Monsieur  de  "Rastignac,  and  Horace 
Bianchon,  and  Père  Goriot,  and  Mademoiselle  Taille- 
fer  —  " 


312 


Lucien  de  Ruhemprê. 


a  very  good,"  said  the  judge,  never  ceasing  to  watch 
Jacques  Collin,  whose  face  was  impassible  ;  44  that  Père 
Goriot  —  " 

14  He  is  dead,"  said  Madame  Poiret. 

44  Monsieur,"  said  Jacques  Collin,  "  I  have  several 
times  met  in  Lucien's  rooms  a  Monsieur  de  Rastignac, 
intimate,  I  think,  with  Madame  de  Nucingen  ;  if  it 
is  he  whom  she  means  he  never  mistook  me  for  the 
criminal  with  whom  some  one  is  now  attempting  to 
confound  me." 

4 'Monsieur  de  Rastignac  and  Doctor  Bianchon," 
said  the  judge,  "both  occupy  such  social  position  that 
their  testimony,  if  favorable  to  you,  will  suffice  to  make 
me  release  you.  Coquart,  write  out  the  summons  for 
their  attendance  here." 

In  a  few  moments  the  formalities  of  Madame  Poiret's 
examination  were  over  and  Coquart  read  to  her  the 
written  report  of  her  testimony,  which  she  signed  ;  but 
the  accused  refused  to  add  his  signature,  on  account  of 
his  ignorance  of  the  forms  of  French  law. 

"That's  enough  for  to-day,"  said  Monsieur  Camusot. 
44  You  must  be  in  want  of  food  ;  I  will  now  send  you 
back  to  the  Conciergerie." 

44  Alas  !  I  suffer  too  much  to  eat,"  said  Jacques 
Collin. 

Camusot  was  anxious  that  Herrera's  return  should 
coincide  witli  the  hour  when  the  other  prisoners  took 
their  exercise  in  the  préau;  but  he  wanted  an  an- 
swer from  the  director  of  the  Conciergerie  to  the  order 
he  had  given  him  in  the  morning.  He  therefore  rang 
the  bell  for  his  usher.  When  the  man  came  he  said 
that  the  portress  of  a  house  on  the  quai  Malaquais 


Lucien  de  Mubemgré. 


S13 


was  waiting  in  the  antechamber  to  see  the  judge  and 
give  him  a  paper  of  importance  relating  to  Monsieur 
Lucien  de  Rubempré. 

This  incident  seemed  so  important  that  Camusot 
dropped  his  immediate  intention  and  said,  hastily  :  — 

"  Let  her  come  in,  at  once." 


314 


Lucien  de  liubempré. 


XXII. 

A  MESSAGE  FROM  THE  DEAD. 

"  Pardon  me,  excuse  nie,  monsieur,"  said  the  por- 
tress, bowing  to  the  judge  and  to  the  abbé  in  turn, 
"  but  we  have  been  so  upset,  my  husband  and  I,  and 
troubled  by  the  officers  of  the  law,  that  each  time  they 
have  come  to  the  house  we  have  forgotten  to  give  them 
a  letter  that  came  by  post  for  Monsieur  Lucien  ;  it 
was  put  away  in  our  drawer  ;  we  had  to  pay  ten  sous 
for  it,  though  it  comes  from  Paris,  —  but  it  is  very 
heavy.  Would  you  pay  the  postage  ?  For  God  knows 
when  Monsieur  Lucien  may  get  back." 

"Was  this  letter  given  to  you  by  the  postman?" 
asked  Camusot,  after  attentively  examining  the  outside 
of  the  letter. 

"Yes,  monsieur." 

"Coquart,  draw  up  an  affidavit  of  this  declara- 
tion. Give  your  name,  my  good  woman,  and  your 
occupation." 

Camusot  made  the  portress  swear  to  her  declaration, 
and  then  he  himself  dictated  the  report. 

During  the  progress  of  these  formalities,  he  examined 
the  post-mark,  which  bore  the  hour  of  receipt  and  dis- 
tribution and  also  the  date  of  the  day  of  delivery. 
This  letter,  delivered  at  Lucien's  home  the  morning 
after  Esther's  death,  must  have  been  written  and 
posted  on  the  day  of  that  catastrophe. 


Lucien  de  Rubempré. 


315 


We  may  now  judge  of  the  stupefaction  of  Monsieur 
Camusot  on  reading  this  letter,  written  and  signed  by 
a  woman  who  was  supposed  to  be  the  victim  of  a 
crime. 

Monday,  May  13,  1830. 
My  last  day,  — 10  o'clock  in  the  morning. 

My  Lucien,  —  I  have  not  an  hour  to  live.  At  eleven 
o'clock  I  shall  be  dead,  and  I  shall  die  without  pain.  I 
have  paid  fifty  thousand  francs  for  a  pretty  little  black  cur- 
rant containing  a  poison  which  kills  like  lightning.  And  so, 
my  treasure,  you  can  say  to  yourself  :  "  My  little  Esther  did 
not  suffer."  Yes,  I  shall  only  have  suffered  in  writing  to 
you  these  lines. 

The  monster  who  bought  me  so  dearly,  knowing  that  the 
day  on  which  I  should  know  myself  to  be  his  would  have  no 
morrow,  has  left  me.  For  the  first  and  last  time  I  have 
been  able  to  contrast  my  former  life  with  the  life  of  love,  to 
compare  the  tenderness  which  expands  into  infinity  with  the 
horror  of  a  debt  which  made  me  long  for  annihilation,  so 
that  no  spot  of  me  might  be  left  for  kisses.  Perhaps  this 
disgust  was  needful  to  make  me  find  death  sweet.  I  have 
taken  a  bath  ;  I  wish  the  confessor  of  the  convent  where  I 
was  baptized  were  here  to  confess  me,  and  wash  my  soul,  — 
but  no,  enough  of  prostitution  ;  it  would  profane  the  sacra- 
ment and  besides,  I  think  I  am  washed  in  the  water  of  sin- 
cere repentance.    God  will  do  with  me  as  he  will. 

But  let  us  be  done  with  tears  ;  I  want  to  be  your  Esther  to 
you  up  to  my  last  moment,  and  not  fret  you  about  my  death, 
or  the  future,  or  the  good  God,  who  could  n't  be  good  if  he 
tortured  me  in  another  world  when  I  have  suffered  such 
bitter  sorrow  in  this. 

I  have  your  dear  portrait  painted  by  Madame  Mirbel  be- 
fore me.  That  ivory  leaf  consoles  me  for  your  absence  ;  I 
look  at  it  with  delirium  as  I  write  you  my  last  thoughts,  as 


316 


Lucien  de  Ruhemjpri. 


I  make  you  feel  the  last  beatings  of  my  heart.  I  shall  put 
the  portrait  under  cover  of  this  letter  ;  for  I  will  not  leave  it 
to  be  stolen  or  sold.  The  mere  thought  that  what  has  been 
my  joy  could  be  shown  in  the  window  of  a  shop  with  the 
ladies  and  officers  of  the  Empire  and  Chinese  images  gives 
me  a  cold  shudder.  My  Lucien,  destroy  it,  give  it  to  no 
other  woman  —  unless  it  could  win  you  back  the  heart 
of  that  lath  in  petticoats,  that  Clotilde,  who  will  give 
you  nightmares  with  her  sharp  bones —  Yes,  I  consent 
that  she  should  have  it,  and  then  I  '11  still  be  doing  you 
some  good,  as  in  my  lifetime.  Ah  !  to  give  you  pleasure 
—  or  were  it  only  to  make  you  laugh  —  I 'd  have  stood  be- 
fore a  fire  with  an  apple  in  my  mouth  to  bake  it  for  you  ! 
My  death  will  be  useful  to  you,  too.  Living  I  should  have 
troubled  your  home.  Ah  !  that  Clotilde,  I  can't  understand 
her  !  Able  to  be  your  wife,  to  bear  your  name,  never  to 
leave  you  night  or  day,  to  be  your  own,  and  yet  make  difficul- 
ties !  One  must  be  high-bred  and  faubourg  Saint-Germain 
for  that  !  and  not  have  an  ounce  of  flesh  on  her  bones. 

Poor  Lucien  !  dear,  balked  ambitious  one,  I  think  of  your 
future.  Ah,  me  !  you  '11  regret,  more  than  once,  your  poor 
faithful  little  dog,  that  good  girl  who  stole  for  you,  who 
would  have  let  them  drag  her  into  a  police-court  could  that 
have  made  you  happy  ;  whose  sole  occupation  was  to  think 
of  your  pleasures  and  plan  them  for  you  ;  who  had  love  for 
you  in  her  hair,  her  feet,  her  ears;  your  little  ballerina, 
whose  looks  meant  blessings  ;  who  for  six  years  thought 
only  of  you  ;  who  was  so  utterly  yours  that  I  have  been  but 
the  emanation  of  my  Lucien's  soul  as  light  is  that  of  the  sun. 
But  alas,  for  want  of  money  and  virtue  I  could  not  be  your 
wife.  I  have  always  thought  of  your  future  in  giving  you 
all  that  I  possessed  ;  I  do  now.  Come,  as  soon  as  you  re- 
ceive this  letter,  and  take  what  is  placed  for  you  under  my 
pillow  ;  for  I  distrust  the  servants  of  the  house. 

Ah  !  I  want  you  to  see  me  beautiful  in  death  ;  I  will  lie 
down,  stretched  on  my  bed  ;  I  will  pose  for  you,  ah  !  Then 


Lucien  de  Ruhemprê. 


317 


I  shall  press  the  little  currant  against  the  roof  of  my  mouth, 
and  there  '11  be  no  disfigurement,  no  convulsions,  no  ridicu- 
lous posture. 

I  know  that  Madame  de  Sérizy  has  quarrelled  with  you 
on  my  account  ;  but  don't  you  see,  my  sweet,  that  when  she 
knows  I  'in  dead  she  '11  forgive  you  ;  you  must  cultivate  her, 
and  she  '11  marry  you  well  if  those  Grandlieus  persist  in 
their  refusal. 

My  nini,  I  don't  want  you  to  give  great  sighs,  alas  !  and 
alas  !  when  you  hear  of  my  death.  In  the  first  place,  I  ought 
to  tell  you  that  this  hour  of  eleven  o'clock  Monday  morning, 
May  13,  is  but  the  ending  ot  a  long  malady  which  began 
that  day  on  the  terrace  at  Saint-Germain,  when  you  flung 
me  back  into  my  old  career.  There  are  maladies  of  the  soul 
as  there  are  of  the  body.  Only,  the  soul  cannot  go  on  suf- 
fering stupidly  like  the  body  ;  the  body  never  sustains  the 
soul  as  the  soul  the  body, — no,  the  soul  has  a  means  of 
cure  in  the  thought  that  makes  a  grisette  have  recourse  to 
charcoal.  Dear,  you  gave  me  all  of  life  last  night  when  you 
told  me  that  if  the  Grandlieus  still  refused  you,  you  would 
marry  me.  'T  would  have  been  for  both  a  great  misfor- 
tune; I  should  have  died  far  more  —  if  one  can  say  so. 
I  mean  there  are  deaths  that  are  more  —  or  less  —  bitter. 
Never,  never  would  the  world  have  accepted  us. 

It  is  now  some  months  that  I  have  reflected  deeply  on  many 
things.  See  !  a  poor  girl  is  in  the  mud  as  1  was  before  I 
went  into  the  convent  ;  men  think  her  beautiful,  they  make 
her  serve  their  pleasures,  excusing  themselves  from  consid- 
ering her  ;  they  fetch  her  in  a  carriage,  but  they  send  her 
away  on  foot  ;  if  they  do  not  spit  in  her  face  it  is  only  because 
her  beauty  saves  her  from  that  outrage,  but  morally  they  do 
worse.  "Well,  let  that  girl  inherit  five  or  six  millions,  and 
princes  will  ask  her  hand  ;  she  is  saluted  respectfully  where- 
ever  she  passes  in  her  carriage  ;  she  may  choose  her  husband 
from  the  noblest  blood  of  France  and  of  Xavarre.  This  world 
of  social  life,  which  would  ever  have  cried  "  Raca  1  "  to  us,  — 


318 


Lucien  de  Rubempré. 


to  us,  beautiful,  united,  and  loving,  —  bowed  low  to  Madame 
de  Staël,  in  spite  of  her  ways  of  living,  because  she  had  a 
fortune.  Yes,  this  world,  that  bends  the  knee  to  money  and 
to  fame,  grants  nothing  to  happiness  or  virtue  —  for  I  was 
virtuous,  I  would  have  done  good.  Oh  !  how  many  tears 
would  I  have  wiped  away  !  —  as  many  as  I  have  shed.  Yes, 
I  would  have  lived  only  for  you  and  for  charity. 

These  reflections  have  made  death  welcome  to  me.  And 
so,  don't  lament  for  me,  my  own  darling  ;  say  to  yourself, 
often,  "There  were  two  kind  girls,  two  lovable  creatures, 
who  both  died  for  me,  without  ever  blaming  me,  for  they 
adored  me."  Raise  a  memorial  in  your  heart  to  Coralie, 
and  to  Esther,  and  go  your  way  !  be  happy  !  Do  you  remem- 
ber the  day  when  you  showed  me  an  old  shrivelled  creat- 
ure, in  a  melon-green  hood  and  a  brown  pelisse  covered  with 
black  grease-spots,  the  mistress  of  a  poet  before  the  Revolu- 
tion, trying  to  get  warm  in  the  sun,  on  a  bench  in  the 
Tuileries,  and  fretting  about  a  horrible  pug,  —  she  who  once 
had  servants  and  carriages  and  houses?  And  I  said  to 
you  —  don't  you  remember  ?  —  "  Better  die  at  thirty." 
Well,  that  day,  afterwards,  you  found  me  thoughtful,  and 
you  talked  follies  to  cheer  me  up,  but,  between  two  kisses, 
I  said  again,  "Pretty  women  leave  the  play  before  it  ends." 
And  so  1  don't  want  to  see  the  last  act,  that 's  all. 

"  How  she  runs  on  !  "  you  '11  say  ;  but  this  is  my  last  chatter. 
I  write  as  I  used  to  talk  to  you,  as  I  want  to  talk  still, 
gayly,  for  you  liked  it.  Grisettes  who  bemoan  themselves 
were  always  a  horror  to  me.  You  know  I  did  die  well  once 
before,  — that  night  of  the  masked  ball  when  they  let  you 
know  I  had  been  a  prostitute. 

Oh!  no,  no,  my  nini,  don't  give  away  this  portrait;  if 
you  knew  with  what  floods  of  love  I  have  plunged  into  those 
eyes  —  for  I  stopped  writing  to  look  at  them  with  rapture  — 
you 'd  think,  as  you  gather  up  the  love  I  have  left  upon  the 
ivory,  that  the  soul  of  your  little  Esther  is  there.  No, 
Lucien,  do  not  part  with  it. 


Lucien  de  Rubemprê. 


319 


A  dead  woman  asking  alms!  —  how  comical!  Come, 
come  !  let  us  be  peaceful  in  our  grave. 

My  death  would  seem  heroic  to  fools  if  they  knew  that 
to-day  Nucingen  offered  me  millions  if  I  would  love  him 
as  I  love  you.  Ah  !  he  '11  be  finely  robbed  when  he  finds 
I  have  kept  my  word  and  have  died  of  him.  I  did  my 
best  to  still  breathe  the  air  that  you  breathe.  I  said  to 
that  robber  of  women  and  orphans,  "Do  you  wish  me  to 
love  you  as  you  say?  I  will  even  promise  never  to  speak 
to  Lucien  again."  "  What  shall  I  do  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Give 
me  two  millions  for  him."  No  !  if  you  could  only  have 
seen  his  face  !  Ah  !  I  could  have  laughed,  if  it  had  n't  been 
so  tragic  for  me.  "  Save  yourself  the  trouble  of  a  refusal," 
I  said.  "  I  see  now  that  two  millions  are  more  to  you  than 
I  am  ;  it  is  good  for  a  woman  to  know  what  she  is  worth  ;  " 
and  I  turned  my  back  upon  him.  He  '11  know  in  a  few 
hours  that  I  was  not  joking. 

Who  will  part  your  hair  for  you  as  I  did  ?  Bah  !  I  don't 
want  to  think  of  anything  more  in  life.  I  have  but  five 
minutes  left  and  I  go  to  God.  I  want  to  speak  to  him  of 
you,  and  ask  for  your  happiness  at  the  price  of  my  death 
and  my  punishment  in  the  other  world,  —  it  troubles  me 
that  I  must  go  to  hell.  I  would  like  to  be  among  the 
angels,  where  I  could  think  of  you. 

Adieu,  my  ram,  adieu!  I  bless  you  for  all  my  misery 
To  the  grave,  I  am 

Your  Esther. 

Eleven  o'clock  is  striking;  I  have  said  my  last  prayer, 
and  I  am  going  now  to  lie  down.  Once  more,  adieu  1  I 
would  that  the  warmth  of  my  hand  could  leave  my  soul 
upon  this  paper  where  I  place  my  last  kiss.  Once  more  I 
want  to  call  you  my  little  minet,  though  you  have  caused 
the  death  of  your 

Esther. 


320 


Lucien  de  Rubemprê. 


A  spasm  of  jealousy  was  in  the  heart  of  the  judge 
as  he  ended  the  reading  of  the  only  letter  written  by 
a  suicide  in  which  he  had  found  such  gayety,  albeit 
a  feverish  ga}rety  and  the  last  effort  of  a  blinded  love. 

"  What  is  there  in  him  to  be  loved  thus  ?  "  he 
thought,  repeating  what  is  said  by  all  men  who  have 
not  the  gift  of  pleasing  women. 

"If  you  are  able  to  prove  not  only  that  you  are  not 
Jacques  Collin,  an  escaped  convict,  but  that  you  are 
really  Don  Carlos  Herrera,  canon  of  Toledo,  and  envoy 
of  his  Majesty  Ferdinand  VII.,"  said  the  judge  to 
Jacques  Collin,  "you  will  be  set  at  liberty  at  once; 
for  the  impartiality  which  my  office  demands  obliges  me 
to  tell  3rou  that  I  have  this  moment  received  a  letter 
from  Mademoiselle  Esther  Gobseck,  in  which  she  avows 
her  intention  of  committing  suicide,  and  expresses  such 
suspicion  of  her  servants  as  would  seem  to  show  that 
they  are  guilty  of  the  robbeiy  of  seven  hundred  and 
fifty  thousand  francs  which  were  under  her  pillow." 

While  speaking,  Monsieur  Camusot  was  comparing 
the  writing  of  the  letter  with  that  of  the  will,  and  to 
his  mind  it  was  evident  that  the  letter  had  been  written 
by  the  same  person  who  wrote  the  will. 

"  Monsieur,  }Tou  have  been  too  hasty  in  suspecting 
a  murder  ;  may  you  not  also  be  mistaken  in  suspecting 
a  theft." 

"  Ha!"  said  Camusot,  casting  the  look  of  a  judge 
on  the  prisoner. 

'  '  Do  not  think  that  I  compromise  myself  when  I 
say  that  the  sum  missing  can  probably  be  found," 
replied  Jacques  Collin,  letting  the  judge  see  that  he 
understood  his  suspicion.    "  This  poor  girl  was  beloved 


Lucien  de  Mubemprê. 


321 


by  her  servants.  If  I  were  free,  I  should  make  it  my 
business  to  search  for  property  which  now  belongs  to 
the  being  I  love  best  in  the  world,  —  to  Lucien.  Will 
you  have  the  kindness  to  let  me  read  the  letter?  It 
will  not  take  long  ;  it  is  a  precious  proof  of  the  inno- 
cence of  m}'  dear  child  ;  therefore  you  cannot  fear  that 
I  should  injure  it  —  or  speak  of  it,  for  I  am  in  soli- 
tary confinement." 

"  Solitary  confinement  Î  "  cried  the  judge  ;  "  of  course 
you  will  not  remain  there.  I  beg  you  to  establish  your 
identity  at  once.  Have  recourse  to  your  ambassador, 
if  you  like/'' 

He  held  out  the  letter  to  Jacques  Collin.  Camusot 
was  delighted  to  get  rid  of  his  perplexities,  —  to  sat- 
isfy- the  attorn ej'-general,  and  Mesdames  de  Maufri- 
gneuse  and  Sérizy.  Nevertheless,  he  examined  coldly 
and  critically  the  face  of  his  prisoner  while  the  latter 
read  Esther's  letter,  and,  in  spite  of  the  sincerity  of 
the  feelings  that  were  now  depicted  on  it,  he  said  to 
himself  :  — 

'  '  That  certainly  is  the  physiognomy  of  a  convict." 

"This  is  love!"  said  Jacques  Collin,  returning  the 
letter  and  letting  Camusot  see  his  face,  which  was 
bathed  in  tears. 

"  If  you  knew  him  !  "  he  said.  "  A  soul  so  young, 
so  fresh,  a  beauty  so  magnificent,  a  child,  a  poet  !  One 
feels  an  irresistible  need  of  sacrificing  one's  self  to 
him,  of  satisfying  even  his  slightest  wishes.  This  dear 
Lucien  is  so  winning  when  he  chooses  to  be  caressing 
that  —  " 

44  Well,"  said  the  magistrate,  making  one  more  effort 
to  get  at  the  truth,"  you  can  hardly  be  Jacques  Collin." 

21 


322 


Lucien  de  Bubempré. 


44  No,  monsieur,  I  am  not." 

And  Jacques  Collin  made  himself  more  than  ever 
Don  Carlos  Herrera.  In  his  desire  to  finish  his  work, 
he  approached  the  judge,  drew  him  aside  to  the  recess 
of  the  window,  and  took  the  manners  of  a  prince  of  the 
Church  making  a  confidence. 

44  I  love  that  boy  so  much,  monsieur,  that  if  I  had  to 
remain  the  criminal  for  whom  you  take  me  in  order  to 
avoid  disaster  to  that  idol  of  my  heart,  I  would  accuse 
myself,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice.  "I  would  imitate 
that  poor  girl  who  killed  herself  for  his  benefit.  Mon- 
sieur, I  entreat  you  to  grant  me  a  favor,  —  set  Lucien 
at  liberty  at  once." 

"My  duty  is  against  it,"  said  Camusot,  kindly; 
"but  it  is  with  justice  as  with  heaven,  a  way  might 
be  found  —  can  you  give  me  any  good  reason?  Speak 
frankly  ;  your  words  will  not  be  taken  down." 

"  Well,  then,"  replied  Jacques  Collin,  deceived  by 
the  judge's  apparent  kindliness,  "I  know  what  that 
poor  boy  must  suffer  at  this  moment  ;  he  is  capable  of 
trying  to  kill  himself  at  the  mere  thought  that  he  is  in 
prison  —  " 

'  '  Oh,  as  for  that  Î  "  said  the  judge,  shrugging  his 
shoulders. 

4 1  And  you  know  not  whom  you  oblige  in  doing  me 
this  service,"  added  Jacques  Collin,  who  wanted  to 
touch  other  cords.  44  You  render  a  service  to  an  Order 
more  powerful  than  the  Comtesse  de  Sérizy,  or  the 
Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse,  who  will  not  forgive  the 
fact  that  their  letters  have  been  in  your  office,"  —  and 
he  pointed  to  two  perfumed  packages.  44  My  Order  haa 
a  memory." 


Lucien  de  Rubemprê, 


323 


"Monsieur,"  said  Camusot,  "enough!  Find  other 
reasons.  I  have  a  duty  toward  accused  persons,  as  I 
have  toward  the  prosecution  of  crime." 

"  Then  believe  me,  I  know  Lucien.  His  is  the  soul 
of  a  woman,  —  a  poet,  Southern  born,  without  steadfast- 
ness, without  will,"  said  Jacques  Collin,  thinking  that 
the  judge  was  wholly  won.  "You  are  now  certain  of 
the  innocence  of  this  young  man  ;  do  not  harass  him 
b}T  questions.  Give  him  this  letter  ;  tell  him  he  is 
Esther's  heir,  and  set  him  at  liberty.  If  you  do  other- 
wise you  will  regret  it  ;  whereas,  if  you  will  release 
him,  I  will  myself  explain  to  you  (and  keep  me  if  you 
will  in  solitary  confinement)  to-morrow,  to-night,  all 
that  seems  mysterious  in  this  affair,  and  the  reasons  of 
the  rancorous  persecution  of  which  I  am  the  object. 
In  doing  this  I  shall  risk  my  life,  which  they  have 
sought  to  take  for  five  years  past  ;  but  Lucien  free, 
rich,  and  married  to  Clo tilde  de  Grandlieu,  my  task  in 
this  world  is  accomplished.  I  do  not  care  to  save  my 
skin  ;  my  persecutor  is  a  spy  of  your  late  king." 

"Ah!  Corentin!" 

"  Is  that  his  name?  thank  you.  Well,  monsieur,  will 
you  promise  to  do  what  I  have  asked  of  you  ?  " 

"  A  judge  neither  can  nor  ought  to  promise  anything. 
Coquart,  tell  the  usher  and  the  gendarmes  to  take  the 
accused  back  to  the  Conciergerie.  I  will  give  orders 
this  evening  to  place  you  in  the  Pistole,"  he  added, 
kindly,  making  a  slight  inclination  of  his  head  to  the 
prisoner. 

Struck  by  the  request  made  by  Jacques  Collin,  re- 
membering the  urgency  with  which  he  had  asked  to  be 
examined  first,  —  giving  his  illness  as  a  reason,  —  all 


324 


Lucien  de  Rubemprê. 


the  judge's  distrust  came  back  to  him.  As  he  again 
listened  to  his  vague  suspicions,  he  saw  the  pretended 
sick  man  leaving  the  room,  and  walking  like  a  Hercu- 
les, with  none  of  the  mimicry  of  illness  with  which  he 
entered  it. 

"  Monsieur!  "  he  called  out. 

Jacques  Collin  turned  round. 

"  In  spite  of  your  refusal  to  sign  the  record  of  your 
examination,  my  clerk  will  read  to  you." 

The  prisoner  was  plainly  in  perfect  health  ;  the  mo- 
tion with  which  he  went  to  the  clerk's  table  and  sat 
down  by  him  was  a  last  flash  of  light  to  the  judge. 

"  You  have  been  quickly  cured,"  he  said. 

"Caught!"  thought  Jacques  Collin;  then  he  said 
aloud,  "  J03-,  monsieur,  is  the  only  panacea  that  exists. 
That  letter,  the  proof  of  an  innocence  I  never  doubted 
—  ah,  that  is  indeed  a  remedy  !  " 

The  judge  watched  the  accused  with  pensive  eyes  as 
the  usher  and  the  gendarmes  surrounded  him  ;  then  he 
made  the  motion  of  a  man  who  wakes  up,  and,  throw- 
ing Esther's  letter  upon  his  clerk's  desk,  he  said  :  — 

'  '  Coquart,  copy  that  !  " 

If  it  is  in  the  nature  of  every  man  to  distrust  the 
thing  he  is  entreated  to  do  when  that  thing  is  against 
his  interests  and  against  his  duty,  and  even  when  it  is 
wholly  indifferent  to  him,  this  feeling  is  pre-eminently 
the  law  of  an  examining  judge.  The  more  the  accused, 
whose  own  status  was  not  yet  clear,  let  the  judge  see 
clouds  on  the  horizon  in  case  Lucien  was  examined, 
the  more  that  examination  seemed  necessary  to  Camu- 
sot.  Even  though  this  formality  was  not  indispensable 
according  to  the  Code  and  legal  custom,  it  seemed  re« 


Lucien  de  Rubempré. 


325 


quired  by  the  question  of  the  abbé's  identity.  In  all 
employments  there  is  the  conscience  of  our  work.  In 
default  of  curiosity,  Carnusot  would  have  questioned 
Lucien,  as  he  had  questioned  Jacques  Collin,  display- 
ing a  craftiness  which  an  honorable  judge  thinks  right. 
But  now  the  duty  to  be  doue,  even  his  own  advancement, 
all  became  secondaiy,  in  Camusot's  mind,  to  the  desire 
to  know  the  truth,  to  obtain  it,  if  only  to  be  silent 
about  it. 

He  stood  drumming  on  the  window  panes,  com- 
plete^- abandoned  to  the  flood  of  his  conjectures  ;  for 
thought  is  like  a  river  that  flows  through  many  lands. 
Lovers  of  truth,  magistrates,  have  much  in  common 
with  jealous  women  ;  they  give  themselves  up  to  count- 
less suppositions  ;  they  dig  into  them  with  the  dagger 
of  suspicion,  as  the  sacrificing  high-priest  disembowels 
the  victims  of  the  altar  ;  moreover,  the}T  stop,  not  at 
truth,  but  at  probability,  and  they  end  b}'  a  perception 
of  the  truth.  A  woman  questions  a  man  she  loves  very 
much  as  a  judge  interrogates  a  criminal.  With  such 
intentions,  a  flash  of  the  eye,  a  word,  an  intonation  of 
the  voice,  a  hesitation,  suffices  to  indicate  the  fact,  the 
betrayal,  the  hidden  crime. 

"  The  manner  in  which  he  described  his  devotion  to 
his  son  (if  it  is  his  son)  makes  me  believe  that  he  went 
to  the  house  of  that  girl  to  secure  the  money  ;  and,  not 
knowing  of  the  will  that  was  under  her  pillow,  he  prob- 
ably took,  for  his  son,  the  seven  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  francs,  provisional!}'.  That  must  be  the  rea- 
son why  he  says  he  can  and  will  recover  that  money. 
Monsieur  de  Rubempré  owes  it  to  himself,  as  well  as 
to  justice,  to  clear  up  the  civil  status  of  his  father- 


326 


Lucien  de  fiubempré. 


And  to  promise  me  the  protection  of  his  Order  —  his 
Order  !  —  if  I  would  refrain  from  examining  the  young 
man." 

He  dwelt  on  that  thought. 

As  we  have  already  seen,  an  examining  judge  carries 
on  the  examination  as  he  pleases.  He  is  free  to  use 
craft,  or  to  lay  it  aside.  The  inquiry  may  be  nothing, 
or  it  may  be  all.    In  that  lies  favor. 

Camusot  rang  the  bell.  His  usher  had  returned  ;  he 
ordered  him  to  fetch  Monsieur  Lucien  de  Rubempré, 
and  to  be  careful  that  the  accused  did  not  communicate 
with  any  one,  no  matter  who,  on  the  way.  It  was  now 
two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon. 

"  There  is  some  secret  there,"  said  the  judge  to  him- 
self, "  and  it  must  be  a  secret  of  importance.  The 
reasoning  of  that  amphibious  being,  who  is  neither 
priest,  nor  layman,  nor  convict,  nor  Spaniard,  and  who 
wants  to  prevent  some  dreadful  thing  from  coming  out 
of  his  protege's  mouth  is  this  :  '  The  poet  is  weak  ;  he 
is  effeminate  ;  he  is  not  like  me,  who  am  a  Hercules  in 
diplomacy  ;  if  you  examine  him  you  can  snatch  our 
secret  from  him  easily.'  Well,  now  we  will  get  the 
truth  out  of  innocence." 

And  he  sat  there  tapping  the  edge  of  his  table  with 
an  ivory  paper-knife,  while  his  clerk  went  on  copying 
Esther's  letter.  How  many  capricious  things  occur  in 
the  exercise  of  our  faculties  !  Camusot  had  supposed 
all  possible  crimes,  but  he  passed  unnoticed  the  only 
one  which  Jacques  Collin  had  really  committed.  — 
namely,  the  forged  will  in  favor  of  Lucien.  Let  those 
whose  envy  fastens  on  the  position  of  these  magistrates 
reflect  upon  their  lives  passed  in  perpetual  suspicion, 


Lucien  de  Hubemprê. 


327 


in  craft  forced  upon  their  minds,  —  for  civil  affairs 
are  not  less  tortuous  than  criminal  inquiries,  —  and 
they  will  perhaps  come  to  the  conclusion  that  the  priest 
and  the  magistrate  bear  an  equally  heavy  harness,  brist- 
ling with  spikes  within  it.  All  professions  have  their 
hair-shirts  and  their  thumbscrews. 


328 


Lucien  de  Rubempré. 


XXIIL 

THE  JUDGE  APPLIES  THE  TORTURE. 

A  few  minutes  after  two  o'clock  Monsieur  Camusot 
saw  Lucien  de  Bubempré  brought  to  his  office  —  pale, 
limp,  undone,  his  eyes  red  and  swollen,  in  a  state  of 
prostration,  which  enabled  him  to  compare  nature  with 
art,  —  the  realty  fainting  man  with  the  fainting  actor. 
The  passage  from  the  Conciergerie  to  the  judge's  room, 
made  between  two  gendarmes  preceded  by  an  usher, 
had  brought  despair  to  its  acme  in  Lucien.  It  is  in  the 
nature  of  a  poet  to  prefer  death  to  punishment.  Be- 
holding this  nature  utterly  devoid  of  mental  courage,  — 
a  courage  so  powerfully  manifested  in  the  other  pris- 
oner, —  Monsieur  Camusot  felt  scorn  for  his  easy  vic- 
tory, and  a  contempt  which  enabled  him  to  deliver 
decisive  blows,  while  it  left  his  mind  in  that  terri- 
ble freedom  which  characterizes  the  famous  shot  at  a 
pigeon-match. 

"  Recover  yourself,  Monsieur  de  Rubempré  ;  }rou  are 
in  presence  of  a  magistrate  eager  to  repair  the  wrong 
involuntarily  done  by  arresting  you  on  a  suspicion 
which  has  proved  unfounded.  I  believe  you  innocent, 
and  3rou  are  about  to  be  set  at  libert}-.  Here  is  the 
proof  of  your  innocence,  —  a  letter  held  by  your  por- 
tress in  consequence  of  }Tour  absence,  which  she  has 
now  brought  to  me.  In  the  trouble  caused  b}T  the  news 
of  your  arrest  at  Fontainebleau,  and  the  visits  of  the 


Lucien  de  Rubempré. 


329 


police  at  your  house,  she  forgot  the  letter,  which  is  from 
the  Demoiselle  Esther  Gobseck.    Read  it." 

Lucien  took  the  letter,  read  it,  and  burst  into  tears. 
He  sobbed,  without  being  able  to  articulate  a  word.  At 
the  end  of  some  fifteen  minutes,  during  which  time 
Lucien  had  great  difficulty  in  maintaining  any  strength 
at  all,  the  clerk  presented  to  him  a  copy  of  the  letter, 
and  requested  him  to  sign  it  as  "a  certified  copy  of  the 
original,  to  be  delivered  up  on  demand  so  long  as  the 
examinations  in  the  case  should  continue/'  —  offering 
to  read  it  over  and  collate  it  with  the  original  for  him  ; 
but  Lucien  was,  naturall}'  enough,  content  to  trust 
Coquart's  exactness. 

"  Monsieur,"  said  the  judge,  in  a  very  kindly  man- 
ner, "  it  is,  nevertheless,  difficult  to  set  you  at  liberty 
without  fulfilling  certain  formalities,  and  putting  a  few 
questions  to  3'ou.  It  is  almost  as  a  witness  that  I  shall 
now  require  you  to  answer.  To  a  man  like  you,  I  think 
it  useless  to  remark  that  the  oath  to  tell  the  truth  is 
not  only  an  appeal  to  your  conscience,  but  it  is  also  a 
necessity  of  your  position,  which  has  been  for  a  short 
time  ambiguous.  The  truth,  no  matter  what  it  is,  can- 
not injure  you  ;  but  falsehood  would  send  you  to  the 
court  of  assizes,  and  will  oblige  me  now  to  send  you 
back  to  the  Conciergerie,  whereas,  if  you  answer 
frankly,  you  will  sleep  at  home  to-night,  and  you  shall 
be  publicly  vindicated  in  the  public  journals  by  the  fol- 
lowing notice  :  '  Monsieur  de  Rubempré,  arrested  yes- 
terday at  Fontainebleau,  was  immediately  released  after 
a  very  short  examination.'  " 

This  speech  produced  a  lively  impression  on  Lucien. 
Seeing  this,  the  judge  continued  :  — 


330  Lucien  de  .Eubempre. 


44 1  repeat,  you  have  been  suspected  of  complicity 
in  the  murder,  by  poison,  of  the  Demoiselle  Esther. 
There  is,  however,  proof  of  her  suicide,  and  that  ends 
the  question  of  murder.  But  a  sum  of  money  has  been 
taken  from  the  house,  —  seven  hundred  and  fifty  thou- 
sand francs,  —  which  now  forms  part  of  your  inheri 
tance.  Here,  unfortunately,  there  is  a  crime.  The 
crime  precedes  the  discovery  of  the  will.  Now  the  law 
has  reason  to  think  that  a  person  who  loves  you  as 
much  as  the  Demoiselle  Esther  loved  you  has  been 
guilty  of  this  crime,  for  your  sake.  No,  do  not  inter- 
rupt me,"  said  the  judge,  imposing  silence  on  Lucien, 
who  wished  to  speak,  by  a  motion  of  his  hand.  44 1  am 
not  questioning  you  yet.  I  wish  to  make  you  under- 
stand how  much  your  honor  is  concerned  in  this  mat- 
ter. Abandon  the  false,  the  miserable  point  of  honor 
which  binds  accomplices  together,  and  tell  the  whole 
truth." 

Our  readers  must  alread}'  have  observed  the  extreme 
disproportion  of  weapons  existing  between  accused  per- 
sons and  examining  judges.  It  is  true  that  denial, 
cleverly  managed,  has  on  its  side  completeness  of  form, 
and  is  sufficient  for  a  criminal's  defence  ;  but,  for  all 
that,  it  is  a  sort  of  panoply  which  becomes  a  crushing 
weight  when  some  turn  in  the  examination  discloses  a 
rent  in  it.  As  soon  as  denial  is  insufficient  against 
evident  facts,  the  accused  person  is  absolutely  at  the 
mercy  of  the  judge.  Suppose,  now,  that  a  semi-criminal, 
such  as  Lucien,  saved  from  the  first  wreck  of  his  virtue, 
might  amend  his  ways,  and  become  of  use  to  his  coun- 
try; he  would  perish  among  these  nets  and  wiles  of 
examination.    The  judge  draws  up  a  brief  and  dry  re- 


Lucien  de  Bubemprê. 


331 


port  (procès-verbal),  —  a  faithful  record  of  the  questions 
and  answers  ;  but  of  his  insidious  paternal  persua- 
sions, his  captious  remonstrances,  like  those  we  have 
given,  nothing  remains.  The  judges  of  the  upper 
courts  and  the  juries  see  and  know  nothing  of  the 
means  by  which  these  replies  have  been  obtained. 
Therefore,  according  to  some  opinions,  it  would  be 
better  if  the  examination  were  conducted,  as  in  Eng- 
land, before  the  jury.  France  did  practise  that  system 
for  a  short  time.  Under  the  Code  Brumaire,  of  the 
year  VI.,  there  was  what  was  called  a  juiy  of  inquiry 
[jury  d'accusation"],  to  distinguish  it  from  the  judge's 
juiy  [jury  du  judgment].  As  to  the  final  trial  of  a 
case,  if  it  passed  the  jury  of  inquiry,  it  went  to  the 
Royal  courts  without  the  concurrence  of  the  other 
jury. 

44  Now,"  said  Camusot,  after  a  pause,  "  what  is  your 
name?  Monsieur  Coquart,  attention!"  he  said  to  the 
clerk. 

"  Lucien  Chardon  de  Rubempré." 
"Where  born?" 
"  Angoulême." 

And  Lucien  gave  the  day,  month,  and  year. 
44  You  had  no  property  from  your  father?" 
44  None." 

"  You  did,  nevertheless,  during  your  first  residence 
in  Paris,  live  at  considerable  expense,  compared  with 
your  small  means?" 

44  Yes,  monsieur;  but  I  had  at  that  time  a  devoted 
friend,  in  Mademoiselle  Coralie,  whom  I  had  the  mis- 
fortune to  lose.  It  was  grief,  caused  by  her  death, 
which  took  me  back  to  my  former  home." 


332 


Lucien  de  Bubcmprê. 


"  Good,  monsieur,"  said  Camusot  ;  "I  commend 
your  frankness  ;  it  will  be  appreciated." 

Lucien  was  entering,  as  we  see,  upon  the  path  of  gen- 
eral confession. 

"You  incurred  far  greater  expenses  after  your  re- 
turn from  Angoulême  to  Paris,"  resumed  Camusot. 
"  You  have  lived  like  a  man  who  spends  from  fifty  to 
sixty  thousand  francs  a  3-ear." 

"  Yes,  monsieur." 

"  Who  supplied  you  witli  that  money?" 

"  MjT  protector,  the  Abbé  Carlos  Herrera." 

"  Where  did  you  first  know  him?" 

"I  met  him  on  the  high-road,  at  a  moment  when  I 
was  about  to  rid  myself  of  life  by  suicide." 

"  You  had  never  heard  your  family  mention  him,  or 
your  mother?  " 

"Never." 

"  Can  }'ou  remember  the  month  and  year  when  you 
first  became  connected  with  Mademoiselle  Esther?  " 

"  Toward  the  end  of  1823,  at  a  little  theatre  on  the 
boulevard." 

"  At  first  she  cost  you  money? " 

"Yes,  monsieur." 

"  Lately,  in  the  hope  of  marrying  Mademoiselle  de 
Grandlieu,  you  bought  the  remains  of  the  chateau  de 
Rubempré,  to  which  you  have  added  lands  worth  about 
a  million.  You  told  the  Grandlieu  family  that  your 
sister  and  brother-in-law  had  lately  inherited  a  large 
fortune  and  that  you  owed  the  sum  for  the  paj'ment  of 
your  purchase  to  their  liberality.  Did  you  say  that, 
monsieur,  to  the  Grandlieu  family?" 

"  Yes,  monsieur." 


Lucien  de  Rnhempré. 


333 


"You  are  ignorant  of  the  reasons  why  your  marriage 
was  broken  off  ?  " 
"Entirely." 

"  Well,  the  Grancilieu  family  sent  one  of  the  most 
trusty  lawyers  in  Paris  to  your  brother-in-law,  in  order 
to  obtain  information.  This  lawyer  learned  at  Angou- 
lême,  from  the  statements  of  your  sister  and  y  oar 
brother-in-law,  not  only  that  they  had  lent  you  noth- 
ing, but  that  their  inheritance  was  chiefly  in  land,  and 
that  the  personal  property  amounted  to  little  more 
than  two  hundred  thousand  francs.  You  cannot  think 
it  strange  that  a  family  like  that  of  Grandlieu  should 
draw  back  when  they  find  your  fortune  such  that  you 
dare  not  explain  its  origin.  You  see,  monsieur,  the 
position  in  which  a  lie  has  placed  you." 

Lucien  was  struck  dumb  hy  this  revelation  ;  and  the 
little  strength  of  mind  he  still  retained  abandoned  him. 

"The  police  and  the  legal  authorities  know  all  they 
wish  to  know,  remember  that,"  said  Camusot.  "Now," 
he  resumed,  after  a  pause,  thinking  of  the  abbe's  claim 
to  be  Lucien's  father,  "do  you  know  who  this  so- 
called  Carlos  Herrera  is  ?  " 

"  Yes,  monsieur  ;  but  I  knew  it  too  late." 

"  Too  late?  how  do  you  mean?    Explain  yourself." 

"  He  is  not  a  priest,  he  is  not  a  Spaniard,  he  is  — 

"An  escaped  convict?"  said  the  judge,  quickly. 

"Yes,"  replied  Lucien.  "But  when  the  fatal  se- 
cret was  revealed  to  me  I  was  already  under  obligations 
to  him.  I  thought  I  had  allied  myself  with  a  respect- 
able ecclesiastic  —  " 

"Jacques  Collin  —  "  said  the  judge,  beginning  a 
sentence. 


334 


Lucien  de  Bubempré. 


"Jacques  Collin,"  said  Lucien,  Interrupting  him, 
"  yes,  that  is  his  name." 

"Good.  Jacques  Collin,"  resumed  Camusot,  "has 
just  been  recognized  here  by  two  persons  ;  but  he  still 
denies  his  identity  —  in  your  interests,  I  think.  I 
asked  you  if  you  knew  who  he  was  for  another  purpose, 
to  expose  what  may  prove  to  be  another  imposture  of 
Jacques  Collin." 

Instantly  Lucien  felt  as  if  hot  irons  were  plunged 
into  him. 

44  Are  you  ignorant,"  continued  the  judge,  44  that  he 
pretends  to  be  3'our  father,  to  explain  the  extraordinary 
relation  in  which  you  stand  to  him  ?  " 

44  He  !  my  father  !    Oh,  monsieur,  did  he  say  that?" 

44  Have  you  suspected  where  the  sums  of  money 
which  he  gave  you  came  from  ?  It  is  to  be  believed  from 
the  letter  which  you  hold  in  your  hand  that  Mademoiselle 
Esther,  that  poor  girl,  did,  later,  render  you  the  same 
services  as  Mademoiselle  Coralie  ;  but}'Ou  were,  as  you 
have  just  said,  living  in  Paris  and  living  luxuriously  for 
some  years  before  you  received  anything  from  her.  Can 
you  tell  me  where  the  money  came  from  ?  " 

"Ah!  monsieur,  it  is  3'ou  who  must  tell  me,"  cried 
Lucien,  "  where  convicts  get  their  money  —  Jacques 
Collin  my  father  !    Oh  !  my  poor  mother  !  " 

And  he  burst  into  tears. 

44  Clerk,  read  that  part  of  the  examination  in  which 
the  pretended  Carlos  Herrera  declares  himself  the 
father  of  Lucien  de  Rubempré." 

The  poet  listened  to  the  reading  in  silence  and  with  u 
countenance  it  was  painful  to  witness. 

"Iam  lost  !"  he  cried. 


Lucien  de  Huhemjpré. 


335 


"No  man  is  lost  in  the  path  of  truth  and  honor," 
eaid  the  judge. 

"  But  you  will  send  Jacques  Collin  to  the  assizes," 
said  Lucien. 

"  Undoubtedly,"  replied  Camusot,  who  wished  to 
make  Lucien  say  more.  "  Continue  ;  say  what  you 
think." 

But,  in  spite  of  the  efforts  and  remonstrances  of  the 
judge,  Lucien  no  longer  answered.  Reflection  had 
come,  —  too  late,  as  it  does  in  all  men  who  are  slaves 
to  feeling.  There  lies  the  difference  between  the  poet 
and  the  man  of  action  :  one  delivers  himself  over  to  feel- 
ing to  reproduce  his  living  images,  he  judges  nothing 
until  later  ;  whereas  the  other  judges  and  feels  together. 
Lucien  sat  pale  and  dumb  ;  he  saw  himself  at  the  bot- 
tom of  the  precipice  down  which  the  judge  had  rolled 
him,  while  he,  the  poet,  had  let  himself  be  trapped  by 
apparent  kindness.  He  had  betrayed,  not  his  bene- 
factor but  his  accomplice,  — him,  who  had  defended 
their  position  with  the  courage  of  a  lion  and  an  ability 
without  a  flaw.  Just  there,  where  Jacques  Collin  had 
saved  Lucien  by  his  audacity,  Lucien,  the  man  of  mind, 
had  lost  all  by  his  want  of  intelligence  and  his  lack  of 
reflection.  The  infamous  lie,  which  had  so  shocked 
him,  was  the  screen  of  a  truth,  for  him  more  infamous. 
Confounded  by  the  subtlety  of  the  judge,  terrified  by  his 
cruel  cleverness,  by  the  rapidity  of  the  blows  given,  by 
the  exposure  of  the  faults  of  all  his  life  thus  brought  to 
light  like  so  many  grapnels  to  drag  his  conscience, 
Lucien  was  like  an  animal  which  the  club  of  the 
slaughter-house  has  missed.  Free  and  innocent  in  the 
eye  of  the  law  when  he  entered  that  room,  in  one  hour 


336 


Lucien  de  Rubemprê. 


he  saw  himself  a  criminal  by  his  own  confession.  The 
final,  horrible  mockery  came  when  the  judge,  cold  and 
calm,  let  him  see  that  the  revelation  he  had  made  was 
the  result  of  a  blunder.  Camusot  was  thinking  of 
Jacques  Collin's  claim  as  a  father,  while  Lucien,  im- 
pelled by  the  fear  of  seeing  his  connection  with  a 
convict  made  public,  had  imitated  the  celebrated  inad- 
vertence of  the  murderers  of  Ibycus. 

One  of  the  claims  to  gloiy  of  Royer-Collard  is  that 
he  maintained  the  constant  triumph  of  natural  senti- 
ments over  imposed  sentiments  ;  and  he  maintained, 
also,  the  inviolabilit}-  of  pledges,  declaring  that  the 
law  of  hospitality  was  binding  even  to  the  point  of 
annulling  the  value  of  a  judicial  oath.  He  confessed 
this  theon*  in  the  face  of  all  the  world  from  the  French 
chambers  ;  he  bravely  defended  conspirators,  and 
showed  that  it  was  human  to  obey  the  demands  of 
friendship  rather  than  the  tj'rannical  laws  drawn  from 
social  arsenals  for  such  or  such  cases.  In  short, 
Natural  Right  has  laws  which  have  never  }Tet  been 
promulgated  ;  which  are  more  efficacious  and  better 
known  than  those  forged  by  society.  Lucien  had  just 
betrayed —  to  his  own  detriment,  as  it  proved  —  the 
law  of  solidarity,  which  obliged  him  to  be  silent,  and 
let  Jacques  Collin  defend  himself;  but,  worse  than 
that,  he  had  accused  him  !  For  his  own  sake,  in  his 
own  interests,  the  man  should  have  been,  then  and 
always,  Carlos  Herrera. 

Monsieur  Camusot  enjoyed  his  triumph.  He  held 
two  guilty  men  ;  with  the  hand  of  the  law  he  had 
struck  down  an  idol  of  fashionable  society,  and  he 
had  found  the  hitherto  unfindable  Jacques  Collin.  He 


Lucien  de  Hubemprê. 


337 


would,  undoubtedly,  be  considered  one  of  the  ablest  of 
examining  judges.  So  he  let  the  unhappy  prisoner 
keep  silence  ;  but  he  studied  that  silence  of  consterna- 
tion ;  he  saw  the  drops  of  sweat  accumulating  on  that 
anguished  face,  swelling  and  rolling  down  to  mingle 
with  two  streams  of  tears. 

"Why  weep,  Monsieur  de  Rubempré,"  he  said  at 
last.  "You  are,  as  I  have  told  you,  the  heir  of 
Mademoiselle  Esther,  who  had  no  direct  or  collateral 
heirs  ;  and  her  estate  amounts  to  nearly  eight  mil- 
lions, if  the  seven  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs 
are  found." 

This  was  a  last  blow  to  the  wTetched  man.  Had  he 
borne  himself  firmly  for  ten  minutes,  as  Jacques  Collin 
had  said  in  his  note,  Lucien  would  have  attained  to  the 
height  of  his  desires.  He  could  have  paid  his  debt  to 
Jacques  Collin,  and  parted  from  him  ;  he  was  rich,  and 
could  have  married  Clotilde.  Nothing  shows  more  elo- 
quently than  this  scene  the  power  given  to  examining 
judges  by  the  isolation  in  which  accused  persons  are 
kept  previous  to  and  during  the  period  of  their  exam- 
inations, and  the  value  of  such  a  communication  as  Asia 
had  been  able  to  convey  to  Jacques  Collin. 

"Ah,  monsieur!"  replied  Lucien,  with  the  bitter- 
ness and  irony  of  a  man  who  makes  a  pedestal  of  his 
accomplished  misfortune,  "  how  justly  }'ou  say  in  your 
legal  language,  4  undergo  an  examination.'  Between 
the  physical  torture  of  former  times  and  the  mental 
torture  of  to-day  I  would  not,  for  my  part,  hesitate.  I 
prefer  the  sufferings  inflicted  by  an  executioner.  What 
more  do  you  want  of  me?  "  he  added,  proudly. 

"  In  this  place,"  replied  the  magistrate,  becoming 
22 


338  Lucien  de  Ruhemjpré. 


haughty  and  disdainful  in  reply  to  the  poet's  pride,  "I 
alone  have  the  right  to  ask  questions." 

"  But  I  had  the  right  not  to  answer,"  murmured  poor 
Lucien,  whose  intelligence  had  now  come  fully  back  to 
him. 

44  Clerk,  read  his  examination  to  the  accused." 

"  Again  4  accused  1  !  "  said  Lucien  to  himself. 

While  the  clerk  read  the  document,  Lucien  came  to  a 
resolution  which  obliged  him  to  fawn  upon  Monsieur 
Camusot.  When  the  murmur  of  Coquart's  voice  ceased, 
the  poet  quivered  like  a  man  who  has  slept  through  a 
noise  to  which  his  senses  were  accustomed,  and  who  is 
waked  by  its  cessation. 

44  You  must  sign  that  report  of  your  examination," 
said  the  judge. 

44  And  then  will  you  set  me  at  liberty?"  asked  Lu- 
cien, with  some  irony. 

44  Not  yet,"  replied  Camusot  ;  44  but  to-morrow,  after 
you  have  been  confronted  with  Jacques  Collin,  you  will 
no  doubt  be  free.  Justice  must  first  know  whether  you 
are  or  are  not  an  accomplice  in  the  crimes  committed 
by  that  individual  since  his  escape  in  1820.  However, 
you  will  no  longer  be  kept  in  solitary  confinement.  I 
will  write  to  the  director  to  put  you  in  one  of  the  best 
rooms  in  the  Pistole." 

44  Can  I  have  writing  materials?  " 

uThey  will  give  you  whatever  }tou  ask  for;  I  will 
send  the  order  by  the  usher  who  takes  you.  back." 

Lucien  signed  the  report  mechanically,  and  he  marked 
certain  passages  in  obedience  to  Coquart's  directions 
with  the  meekness  of  a  resigned  victim.  A  single  de- 
tail will  do  more  to  show  the  condition  in  which  he  now 


Lucien  de  Rubemprê. 


339 


was  than  any  lengthened  description.  The  announce- 
ment that  he  would  be  confronted  with  Jacques  Collin 
had  dried  the  drops  of  sweat  upon  his  face  ;  his  dry 
eyes  shone  with  intolerable  brilliancy.  In  short,  he 
became,  in  a  moment  that  was  rapid  as  lightning,  what 
Jacques  Collin  was,  a  man  of  iron. 

In  natures  like  that  of  Lucien,  which  Jacques  Collin 
had  so  truly  analyzed,  these  sudden  passings  from  a 
state  of  complete  demoralization  to  an  almost  metallic 
condition  (so  tremendous  is  the  tension  of  human  force) 
are  among  the  most  striking  phenomena  in  the  life  of 
ideas.  Will  returns,  like  water  to  a  dried-up  spring  ; 
it  infuses  itself  into  the  apparatus  prepared  for  the  ac- 
tion of  its  mysterious  constitutive  substance, —  then  the 
dead  body  becomes  a  man,  and  the  man  springs  forth 
armed  with  full  strength  for  mighty  struggles. 

Lucien  put  Esther's  letter  and  the  miniature  it  en- 
closed upon  his  heart.  Then  he  bowed  haughtily  to 
Monsieur  Camusot,  and  walked  with  a  firm  step  through 
the  corridors  between  two  gendarmes. 

"  That  is  an  utter  scoundrel  !  "  said  the  judge  to  his 
clerk,  as  the  door  closed  on  Lucien.  "He  thought  to 
save  himself  by  sacrificing  his  accomplice." 

"Of  the  two,"  replied  Coquart,  timidly,  "the  con- 
vict is  the  better  man." 

"I  give  you  your  liberty  for  to-day,  Coquart,"  said 
the  judge.  "  We  have  done  enough  of  this.  Send  away 
the  people  who  are  waiting  ;  tell  them  to  come  back 
to-morrow.  Stay  !  go  first  to  the  attorne}r-general,  and 
see  if  he  is  still  in  his  office.  If  he  is,  ask  him  to  give 
me  five  minutes'  audience.  Oh,  he  is  certainly  there  !  " 
added  the  judge,  looking  at  a  shabby  clock  of  green- 


340 


Lucien  de  Bubempré. 


painted  wood  with  gilt  lines  ;  "  it  is  only  a  quarter  to 

four." 

These  examinations,  which  are  read  so  rapidly,  take 
an  immense  amount  of  time,  for  the  questions  and  an- 
swers are  all  written  down  at  full  length.  This  is  one 
of  the  causes  of  the  great  delajs  in  criminal  cases,  and 
of  the  length  of  an  accused  person's  confinement.  To 
persons  in  any  small  business  it  is  often  ruin  ;  to  the  rich 
and  prosperous,  shame  ;  for  to  them  a  prompt  release 
repairs,  as  far  it  can  be  repaired,  the  misfortune  of  an 
arrest.  This  is  why  the  two  scenes  just  enacted  in  the 
judge's  office  had  taken  all  the  time  consumed  by  Asia 
in  deciphering  her  master's  missives,  in  bringing  a 
duchess  from  her  boudoir,  and  inspiring  energy  and  a 
course  of  action  to  Madame  de  Sérizy. 


Lucien  de  Eubempré. 


341 


XXIV. 

WHAT  WOMEN  CAN  DO  IN  PARIS. 

Camusot,  now  alone  and  considering  how  his  clever- 
ness could  be  made  to  conduce  to  his  own  advance- 
ment, took  up  the  reports  of  the  two  examinations, 
reread  them,  and  resolved  to  show  them  to  the  attornej*- 
general,  ostensibly  to  ask  his  advice.  While  he  was 
meditating  thus,  his  usher  entered  to  say  the  footman 
of  Madame  de  Sérizy  wished  to  speak  to  him  very  par- 
ticular^. On  a  sign  from  Camusot,  a  man-servant, 
dressed  like  a  master,  presented  himself,  looked  alter- 
nately at  the  judge  and  the  usher,  and  said:  44  Is  it 
Monsieur  Camusot  to  whom  I  have  the  honor  —  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  judge  and  the  usher  together. 

Camusot  took  a  note  which  the  servant  presented 
to  him,  and  read  as  follows  :  — 

In  behalf  of  several  interests,  which  you  will  readily  com- 
prehend, dear  Monsieur  Camusot,  do  not  examine  Monsieur 
de  Kubempré  ;  we  will  bring  you  proofs  of  his  innocence,  so 
that  he  may  be  at  once  set  at  liberty. 

D.  de  Maufrigxeuse. 
L.  de  Sérizy. 

Burn  this  note  before  the  bearer. 

Camusot  perceived  too  late  that  he  had  made  an 
immense  mistake  in  setting  traps  for  Lucien.  He  be- 
gan to  obey  the  two  great  ladies  by  lighting  a  candle 


342 


Lucien  de  Rubemprê. 


and  burning  the  letter,  which  was  written  by  the  duch- 
ess.   The  valet  bowed  respectfully. 

"  Is  Madame  de  Séïizy  coming  here?"  asked  the 
judge. 

"  Yes,  monsieur,  immediately,"  replied  the  man. 

Coquart  here  returned  and  informed  his  master  that 
the  attorney-general  was  awaiting  him. 

Under  pressure  of  the  blunder  he  had  committed, 
against  his  ambition  but  to  the  profit  of  justice,  the 
judge,  in  whom  seven  3*ears'  practice  had  developed  a 
shrewdness  of  which  no  man  who  has  measured  swords 
with  grisettes  during  his  legal  studies  is  devoid, 
remembered  certain  weapons  which  might  yet  pro- 
tect him  from  the  resentment  of  the  two  ladies.  The 
candle  at  which  he  had  burned  their  note  was  still 
lighted;  he  used  it  to  seal  up  thirty  letters  from 
Madame  de  Maufrigneuse  to  Lucien  and  the  still  more 
voluminous  correspondence  of  Madame  de  Sérizy.  Tak- 
ing these  packets  and  the  reports  of  the  examinations 
with  him,  he  went  to  his  meeting  with  the  attorney- 
general. 

The  Palais  de  Justice  is  a  mass  of  confused  struct- 
ures heaped  one  upon  another,  —  some  parts  grand, 
some  mean  ;  each  injuring  the  others  by  want  of  har- 
mony. The  Salle  des  Pas-Perdus  is  the  largest  of  all 
known  halls  ;  but  its  bareness  is  a  horror  and  discour- 
agement to  the  eye.  This  vast  cathedral  of  chicaner}^ 
crushes  the  Royal  Court.  In  the  Galerie  Marchande 
is  a  stairway  with  two  balusters,  beneath  which  opens 
a  large  double  door.  The  stairway  leads  to  the  court 
of  assizes  ;  the  door  to  a  second  court  of  the  same 
kind;  for  yl  some  years  the  crimes  committed  in  the 


Lucien  de  Bubemprê. 


343 


department  of  the  Seine  require  the  session  of  two 
courts.  Here  too  is  the  office  of  the  attorney-general, 
the  barristers'  room,  their  library,  the  offices  of  the  so- 
licitor-general, and  the  assistants  of  the  attorney -gen- 
eral. All  these  premises,  for  we  must  use  a  generic 
term,  are  connected  by  dark  passages,  and  corkscrew 
staircases  which  are  the  disgrace  of  architecture,  of 
Paris,  and  of  France.  A  painter  of  manners  and  cus- 
toms actually  shrinks  from  describing  the  miserable  pas- 
sage three  feet  wide  where  the  witnesses  to  the  upper 
court  of  assizes  are  made  to  wait.  As  for  the  stove 
which  heats  the  court-room  it  would  disgrace  a  café 
on  the  Boulevard  Montparnasse.  The  office  of  the 
attorney-general  is  in  an  octagon  wing  which  flanks 
the  Galerie  Marchande.  This  part  of  the  Palais  de 
Justice  is  overshadowed  by  the  loft}'  and  magnificent 
elevations  of  the  Sainte-Chapelle.  All  is  silent  and 
gloomy. 

Monsieur  de  Granville,  a  worthy  successor  to  the 
great  magistrates  of  the  old  parliament,  had  not  felt 
willing  to  leave  the  Palais  until  he  knew  how  Lucien's 
affair  had  ended.  He  expected  news  from  Camusot, 
and  the  judge's  message  had  thrown  him  into  that  in- 
voluntary revery  which  a  period  of  waiting  gives  to  the 
firmest  minds.  He  was  seated  in  the  recess  of  a  win- 
dow ;  but  he  now  rose,  and  walked  up  and  down  ;  for 
he  had  found  Camusot  that  morning,  when  he  met  him 
intentionally,  very  dull  of  comprehension,  and  he  felt 
vaguely  uneasy  ;  for,  in  addition  to  his  own  good-will  to 
Lucien,  there  was  another  reason  wiry  he  should  wish  to 
see  him  cleared.  The  interests  of  his  best  friend  and 
one  of  his  warmest  protectors,  the  Comte  de  Sérizy,  a 


344 


Lucien  de  Rubemprê. 


minister  of  State,  a  member  of  the  Privy  Council,  and 
the  future  chancellor  of  France,  were  concerned  in  the 
affair.  The  world  knew  that  Lucien  de  Rubempré  was 
an  intimate  at  the  count's  house,  and  the  attorney-gen- 
eral foresaw  the  scandal  that  would  be  made,  both  in 
public,  in  society,  and  at  court,  if  the  guilt  of  a  man 
whose  name  had  already  been  ill-naturedly  coupled  with 
that  of  the  countess  was  proved.  The  dignity  of  his  own 
function,  however,  forbade  his  attempting  to  interfere 
with  the  absolute  independence  of  the  examining  judge. 

"  Ah  !"  he  said  to  himself,  crossing  his  arms,  "for- 
merly power  had  the  right  to  assume  jurisdiction  where 
necessary.  Our  mania  for  equality  "  (he  dared  not  say 
44  legality,"  as  a  poet  lately  declared  with  great  courage 
in  the  Chamber)  44  will  be  the  ruin  of  our  present  era." 

At  the  moment  when  the  attorne}r-general,  pursu- 
ing his  train  of  thought,  had  just  said  to  himself: 
"  Camusot  will  be  sure  to  commit  some  stupidity,"  the 
examining  judge  himself  tapped  at  the  door  of  the 
office. 

41  Well!  my  dear  Camusot,  how  has  that  affair  gone 
about  which  we  were  speaking  this  morning?" 

44  Badly  for  the  accused,  monsieur  le  comte;  read 
the  reports  and  judge  for  yourself." 

He  offered  the  reports  to  the  attorney-general,  who 
took  out  his  eyeglasses  and  retired  to  the  window  ;  the 
reading  was  soon  over. 

44  You  have  done  your  dut}',"  said  the  attorne}'- 
general,  in  a  curt  tone.  44  Those  reports  settle  the 
matter  ;  justice  must  take  its  course.  You  have  shown 
such  ability  that  }'our  services  as  an  examining  judge 
can  never  be  dispensed  with?' 


Lucien  de  Mubempré. 


345 


If  Monsieur  de  Granville  had  said  to  Camusot: 
44  You  will  be  all  your  life  an  examining  judge  and 
nothing  more,"  he  could  not  have  been  more  explicit 
than  he  was  in  that  compliment.  Camusot  turned  cold 
to  the  marrow  of  his  bones. 

"  Madame  la  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse,  to  whom  I 
owe  —  " 

"  Ah!  the  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse  !  "  said  Gran- 
ville, interrupting  the  judge.  "  True,  you  have  not 
yielded,  I  see,  to  an}*  influence.  You  have  done  well, 
monsieur.    You  will  be  a  great  magistrate." 

At  this  moment  Comte  Octave  de  Bauvan  opened 
the  door  without  knocking,  and  said  to  the  Comte  de 
Granville  :  — 

"  My  dear  count,  I  bring  you  a  pretty  woman,  who 
does  n't  know  where  to  turn,  and  has  lost  her  way  in 
our  labyrinth." 

And  he  came  in,  leading  by  the  hand  the  Comtesse 
de  Sérizy. 

"  You  here,  madame  !  "  exclaimed  the  attorney-gen- 
eral, offering  her  his  own  arm-chair,  —  "and  at  this 
moment!  Here  is  Monsieur  Camusot,  madame,"  he 
said,  motioning  to  the  judge.  "Bauvan,"  he  added, 
addressing  that  illustrious  orator  of  the  Restoration, 
"  wait  for  me  in  the  room  of  the  chief-justice,  —  he  is 
still  there  ;  and  I'll  join  }Tou." 

The  Comte  de  Bauvan  understood  not  only  that  it 
was  too  late,  but  that  the  attorney-general  had  some 
reason  for  wanting  an  excuse  to  leave  his  office. 

Madame  de  Sérizy  had  not  committed  the  mistake  of 
coming  to  the  Palais  in  her  own  carriage,  with  its  hand- 
some hammer-cloth  and  armorial  bearings  and  two  foot- 


346 


Lucien  de  Rubemprê. 


men  behind  it  in  white  silk  stockings.  On  the  contrary, 
she  arrived  in  a  hackney-coach,  wearing  a  plain  brown 
dress,  a  black  shawl,  and  a  velvet  bonnet  the  flowers  of 
jyhich  had  been  replaced  by  a  black  lace  veil. 

44  Did  you  receive  our  letter?  "  she  said  to  Camusot, 
whose  bewildered  air  surprised  her. 

"  Too  late,  alas  !  Madame  la  comtesse,"  replied  the 
judge,  who  had  no  tact  or  presence  of  mind  except  in 
his  own  office  and  among  his  prisoners. 

44  Why  too  late?" 

She  looked  at  Monsieur  de  Granville  and  saw  mis- 
fortune on  his  face. 

44  It  must  not  be  too  late,"  she  added  in  a  despotic 
tone. 

Women,  pretty  women,  in  Madame  de  Sérizy's  posi- 
tion, are  the  spoilt  children  of  French  civilization.  If 
women  in  other  countries  knew  what  a  fashionable, 
rich,  and  titled  woman  is  in  Paris,  they  would  ail  want 
to  come  and  share  such  splendid  royalty.  Women, 
bound  only  by  the  laws  of  decorum  and  good-manners, 
by  what  may  be  called,  in  short,  the  Code  Feminine, 
laugh  at  the  laws  that  men  have  made.  They  say  any- 
thing ;  they  refrain  from  no  caprice,  no  wilfulness  ;  for 
they  thoroughly  understand  that  they  are  responsible 
for  nothing  except  their  feminine  honor  and  their  chil- 
dren. They  will  say,  laughing,  the  most  preposterous 
things  and  expect  to  make  them  law  ;  like  the  pretty 
Madame  de  Bauvan,  who,  coming  to  the  Palais  to  fetch 
her  husband  in  the  early  days  of  their  marriage,  was 
heard  to  say,  44  Make  haste  and  get  through  judging,  — 
I  want  you." 

"Madame,"  said  the  attorney-general,  "Monsieui 


Lucien  de  Eubemjprê, 


347 


Lucien  de  Rubempré  is  not  guilt}'  of  robbery  or  mur- 
der, but  Monsieur  Camusot  has  made  him  confess 
another  crime  that  is  almost  as  great." 

"  What  crime?  "  she  demanded. 

"  He  has  admitted,"  said  the  attorney -general  in  her 
ear,  "  that  he  is  the  friend  and  pensioner  of  an  escaped 
convict.  The  Abbé  Carlos  Herrera  who  has  lived  with 
him  for  the  last  seven  years  is  the  famous  Jacques 
Collin—" 

Madame  de  Sérizy  felt  as  if  she  were  branded  with 
hot  irons  herself  while  the  count  was  speaking. 

"  And  the  upshot?"  she  asked. 

''The  upshot,"  said  Monsieur  de  Granville,  continu- 
ing her  sentence  and  still  speaking  in  a  low  voice,  "  is 
that  the  convict  will  be  brought  before  the  court  of 
assizes,  and  if  Lucien  does  not  stand  by  his  side  as 
guilt}'  of  having  profited  knowingly  by  the  thefts  of  his 
accomplice,  he  must  certainly  appear  as  a  witness  pain  • 
fully  compromised." 

"Never!  "  she  cried  aloud,  with  amazing  decision. 
"  I  will  never  see  a  man  whom  the  world  knows  to  be 
my  best  friend  declared  in  a  court  of  law  the  comrade 
of  a  convict  —    The  King  is  devoted  to  my  husband." 

"  Madame,"  said  the  attorney-general,  aloud,  and 
smiling,  "  the  King  has  not  the  slightest  power  over 
the  most  insignificant  examining  judge  in  his  kingdom. 
That  is  the  grandeur  of  our  new  institutions.  I  have 
myself  just  congratulated  Monsieur  Camusot  on  his 
ability  —  " 

"  Say  rather  his  clumsiness,"  said  the  countess, 
sharply,  who  was  less  disturbed  by  Lucien's  intimacy 
with  an  outlaw  than  by  his  relations  with  Esther. 


343 


Lucien  de  Hubemprê. 


"  If  you  will  read  the  report  of  the  examinations  to 
which  Monsieur  Carnusot  subjected  the  two  accused 
persons,  you  will  see  that  everything  depends  on  him." 

After  this  hint,  the  only  interference  the  attorney- 
general  could  allow  himself,  and  after  receiving  a  look 
of  feminine  subtlety,  the  attorney -general  went  toward 
the  door  of  his  office.  There  he  turned,  and  added  : 
"Excuse  me,  madame,  but  I  have  a  word  or  two  I 
must  sa}7  to  Bauvan." 

This,  in  the  language  of  society,  signified  to  the 
countess  :  "  I  don't  want  to  witness  what  passes  be- 
tween you  and  Camusot." 

"What  are  these  reports  of  examinations?"  said 
the  countess,  very  sweetly,  looking  at  Camusot,  who 
stood  all  abashed  before  the  wife  of  one  of  the  greatest 
personages  in  the  State. 

"  Madame,"  replied  Camusot,  "  a  clerk  takes  down 
in  writing  the  questions  of  the  judge  and  the  answers 
of  the  accused  ;  the  report  is  then  signed  by  the  clerk, 
the  judge,  and  the  accused.  These  reports  form  the 
basis  of  the  case  ;  they  determine  whether  or  not 
the  accused  person  shall  be  sent  before  the  court  of 
assizes." 

"Oh!  "  she  said,  "  and  suppose  these  reports  were 
suppressed?  " 

"  Madame,  a  judge  would  commit  a  crime  —  " 
"  It  was  a  much  greater  crime  to  have  written  them." 
she  said.  "  But,  at  this  moment,  they  appear  to  be  the 
only  proof  against  Lucien.  Read  me  those  reports, 
that  I  may  see  what  means  we  still  have  to  save  him  ; 
it  is  a  matter  in  which  my  happiness  and  that  of  Mon- 
sieur de  Sérizy  are  concerned." 


Lucien  de  Rubempré, 


349 


"Madame,"  said  Camusot,  "  do  not  think  that  I  have 
forgotten  the  consideration  I  owe  to  you.  Had  this 
examination  been  confided  to  Monsieur  Popinot,  for 
instance,  you  would  have  been  much  less  safe  than  you 
are  with  me.  The  police  seized  all  papers  in  Monsieur 
Lucien's  house,  even  your  letters  —  " 

"Oh!  my  letters." 

"Here  the}*  are,  sealed  up,"  said  the  judge,  giving 
her  the  packet. 

The  countess  rang  the  bell,  as  if  she  had  been  in  her 
own  house.  The  office  servant  of  the  attorney-general 
entered. 

"  A  light,"  she  said. 

The  servant  lighted  a  candle,  and  put  it  on  the 
mantel-shelf,  while  the  countess  looked  over  her  let- 
ters, counted  them,  crumpled  them  up,  and  threw  them 
on  the  hearth.  Then  she  twisted  up  the  last,  lit  it  at 
the  candla,  and  set  fire  to  the  heap  below.  Camusot 
stood  gazing  rather  vacantly  at  the  flaming  papers, 
still  holding  the  reports  in  his  hand.  The  countess, 
who  appeared  to  be  wholly  intent  on  destroying  the 
proofs  of  her  affection,  was  observing  the  judge  cau- 
tiously out  of  the  corner  of  her  eye.  She  took  her 
time,  calculated  her  movements,  and  then,  with  the 
agility  of  a  cat,  she  seized  the  two  reports  and  flung 
them  into  the  flames.  Camusot  snatched  them  out  ; 
the  countess  sprang  upon  him,  and  seized  the  burning 
papers.  Then  followed  a  struggle,  in  which  Camusot 
cried  out,  "Madame!  madame!  you  are  attempting 
a  —    Madame  ! 99 

A  man  rushed  into  the  room  ;  the  countess  could  not 
restrain  a  cry  of  surprise  as  she  recognized  her  hus- 


350 


Lucien  de  Bitbempré. 


band,  followed  by  Monsieur  de  Granville  and  Monsieur 
de  Bauvan.  Nevertheless,  determined  to  save  Lucien 
at  any  cost,  she  did  not  loosen  her  grip  upon  the  terri- 
ble papers,  which  she  held  with  the  strength  of  pincers, 
though  the  flames  had  already  seared  her  delicate  skin. 
At  last  Camusot,  whose  own  fingers  were  burned, 
seemed  ashamed  of  the  situation,  and  relinquished  the 
papers,  of  which  little  now  remained  but  the  parts  cov- 
ered by  the  grasp  of  the  two  wrestlers.  This  scene 
passed  in  a  moment  of  time  much  less  than  that  which 
it  takes  to  read  it. 

"  What  is  all  this  between  you  and  Madame  de 
Sérizy?"  said  the  cabinet  minister  to  Camusot. 

Before  the  judge  could  answer,  the  countess  had 
applied  the  fragments  of  the  reports  to  the  flame  of 
the  candle  and  thrown  them  upon  the  heap  that  was 
smouldering  on  the  hearth. 

"I  shall  be  obliged,"  said  Camusot,  "to  enter  a 
complaint  against  Madame  la  comtesse." 

"  What  has  she  done?  "  asked  the  attorney-general, 
looking  alternately  at  the  judge  and  the  countess. 

"  I  have  burned  the  examinations,"  said  the  woman 
of  the  world,  laughing,  so  delighted  with  her  high- 
handed measure  that  she  did  not  yet  feel  her  burns  ; 
"  and  if  it  is  a  crime,  —  well,  monsieur  can  do  his  hor- 
rible scribblings  over  again  !  " 

"True,"  said  Camusot,  endeavoring  to  recover  his 
dignity. 

"  Well,  well,  it  is  all  for  the  best  !  "  said  the  attor- 
ney-general. "  But,  my  dear  countess,  you  must  n't 
often  take  such  liberties  with  the  magistracy,  for  you 
might  not  always  be  recognized  for  what  you  are." 


Lucien  de  Buhempre. 


351 


"Monsieur  Camusot  has  bravely  resisted  a  woman 
whom  no  one  resists  ;  the  honor  of  the  robe  is  therefore 
safe  !  "  said  the  Comte  de  Bauvan,  laughing. 

"  Ah  !  Monsieur  Camusot  resisted,  did  he?"  said  the 
attorney-general,  laughing  ;  "  he  is  very  strong." 

Thus  a  serious,  if  not  criminal,  proceeding  was  turned 
into  the  joke  of  a  pretty  woman,  at  which  even  Camusot 
himself  was  now  laughing. 

But  the  attorney -general  caught  sight  of  a  man  who 
did  not  laugh,  and  he  took  the  Comte  de  Sérizy  apart. 

"My  friend,"  he  whispered  in  his  ear,  "this  unfor- 
tunate affair  compels  me  to  compromise  for  the  first  and 
last  time  in  my  life  with  ruy  official  duty." 

He  rang  the  bell,  and  the  servant  came. 

"  Go  to  the  office  of  the  '  Gazette  des  Tribuneaux,' 
and  tell  Maître  Massol  to  come  here,  if  you  can  find 
him.  My  dear  judge,"  he  said  to  Camusot,  taking  him 
apart  from  the  others,  "go  back  to  your  office,  and 
make  your  clerk  rewrite  the  examination  of  the  Abbé 
Carlos  Herrera  ;  this  can  be  done  without  impropriety, 
as  he  did  not  sign  the  first.  To-morrow  you  must  con- 
front this  Spanish  diplomatist  with  Messieurs  de  Ras- 
tignac  and  Bianchon,  who  will  not  recognize  in  him  our 
Jacques  Collin.  Certain  of  being  set  at  liberty,  the 
abbé  will  sign  the  papers.  Set  Lucien  de  Rubempré 
at  liberty  at  once.  You  may  be  certain  that  he  will 
never  speak  of  the  examination  he  has  undergone. 
The  4  Gazette  des  Tribuneaux  '  will  announce  his  re- 
lease to-morrow.  And  now  let  us  see  whether  justice 
and  the  law  are  injured  in  any  wa}-  by  these  proceedings. 
If  the  Spaniard  is  the  convict,  we  have  a  hundred 
ways,  now  that  our  eyes  are  on  him,  of  retaking  him 


352 


Lucien  de  Bubempri. 


We  have  already  sought  for  diplomatic  enlightenment 
as  to  his  conduct  in  Spain.  Corentin  is  on  his  traces. 
As  for  Lucien,  there  is  no  charge  against  him.  The 
robbery  of  the  seven  hundred  thousand  francs  is,  in 
point  of  fact,  to  his  injury.  He  had  much  better  lose 
that  money  than  lose  his  reputation  by  recovering  it. 
That  young  man  is  a  spotted  orange,  my  dear  Camusot  ; 
but  we  need  n't  make  him  rotten.  This  matter  can  all 
be  settled  in  half  an  hour.  Go  now  ;  we  will  await  you 
here.  It  is  only  half-past  four  ;  the  judges  are  still  at 
the  Palais.  Let  me  know  if  you  can  get  an  order  of 
release  at  once,  or  whether  Lucien  must  wait  till  to- 
morrow." 

Camusot  left  the  room  after  bowing  to  all  present. 
Madame  de  Sérizy,  who  by  this  time  was  suffering  from 
her  burns,  did  not  return  his  bow.  Monsieur  de  Sérizy 
had  rushed  from  the  room  while  the  attorney-general 
was  talking  with  the  judge,  and  now  returned  with  a 
little  pot  of  cerate,  with  which  he  dressed  his  wife's 
burns  as  he  whispered  in  her  ear  :  — 

"  Léontine,  why  did  you  come  here  without  letting 
me  know?" 

"Oh,  my  friend,"  she  whispered,  "forgive  me!  I 
was  beside  myself  ;  but  it  was  in  your  interests  as  well 
as  mine." 

"  Be  fond  of  that  young  man,  since  fate  wills  it,"  said 
her  husband;  "but  don't  take  the  whole  world  into 
your  confidence." 

"  Well,  my  dear  countess,"  said  Monsieur  de  Gran- 
ville, after  talking  for  a  time  with  Octave  de  Beauvan, 
"I  hope  that  you  will  be  able  to  carry  Monsieur  de 
Rubempré  home  to  dinner  this  very  evening." 


Lucien  de  Ruhemprê. 


353 


This  half-promise  produced  such  a  reaction  in  Ma- 
dame de  Sérizy  that  she  wept. 

6  '  I  '11  try  to  find  some  ushers  to  bring  him  here,  so 
that  you  may  not  see  him  escorted  by  gendarmes," 
added  Monsieur  de  Granville. 

"Oh,  you  are  good!"  she  said,  with  an  effusion  of 
gratitude  that  made  her  voice  divinely  musical. 


354 


Lucien  de  Bubempré, 


XXV. 

HOW  IT  ENDED. 

While  pretty  women,  cabinet  ministers,  and  magis- 
trates conspired  to  save  Lucien,  let  us  see  what  was 
happening  in  the  Conciergerie. 

As  he  passed  through  the  guichet  Lucien  said  to  the 
clerk  that  Monsieur  Camusoc  had  permitted  him  to  write, 
and  he  asked  for  pens,  ink,  and  paper  ;  which  a  turn- 
key received  the  order  to  take  to  him  after  a  word  said 
in  the  director's  ear  by  the  judge's  usher. 

During  the  time  the  turnkey  took  in  obtaining  and 
bringing  up  to  Lucien  the  things  he  had  asked  for, 
the  unfortunate  young  man,  to  whom  the  idea  of  be- 
ing confronted  with  Jacques  Collin  was  intolerable, 
fell  into  one  of  those  meditations  in  which  the  idea  of 
suicide,  to  which  he  had  already  yielded  without  accom- 
plishment, attains  to  mania.  According  to  some  great 
alienists,  suicide  in  certain  organizations  is  the  termi- 
nation of  a  mental  alienation.  Since  his  arrest  Lucien 
had  fastened  on  that  idea.  Esther's  letter  increased 
his  desire  to  die,  b}r  reminding  him  of  Romeo  rejoin- 
ing Juliet.  When  materials  were  brought  to  him,  he 
wrote  as  follows  :  — 

This  is  my  Testament. 

I,  the  undersigned,  give  and  bequeath  to  the  children  of 
my  sister,  Madame  Ève  Chardon,  wife  of  David  Séchard, 
formerly  a  printer  at  Angoulême,  all  the  property,  real  oi 


Lucien  de  Rubemprê. 


355 


personal,  of  which  I  die  possessed,  excepting  such  as  may 
be  required  to  pay  my  debts  and  the  following  legacies, 
which  I  request  my  executor  to  do. 

I  entreat  Monsieur  de  Sérizy  to  accept  the  office  of  execu- 
tor of  this  my  will. 

There  shall  be  paid  :  (1)  to  Monsieur  l'Abbé  Carlos 
Herrera  the  sum  of  three  hundred  thousand  francs  ;  (2)  to 
Monsieur  le  Baron  de  Nucingen  fourteen  hundred  thousand 
francs,  which  sum  is  to  be  reduced  by  seven  hundred  and 
fifty  thousand  francs,  in  case  the  money  lost  from  Made- 
moiselle Esther's  apartment  be  recovered. 

I  give  and  bequeath,  as  heir  of  Mademoiselle  Esther 
Gobseck,  the  sum  of  seven  hundred  and  sixty  thousand 
francs  to  the  Religious  Houses  of  Paris  to  found  an  asylum 
to  be  specially  devoted  to  public  prostitutes  who  may  desire 
to  quit  their  career  of  vice  and  perdition. 

In  addition,  I  bequeath  to  the  said  Religious  Houses  the 
sum  necessary  to  purchase  an  investment  in  the  Funds  at 
five  per  cent,  producing  thirty  thousand  francs  a  year,  —  the 
said  interest  to  be  employed  semi-annually  in  the  release 
of  prisoners  for  debt,  when  their  indebtedness  amounts  to 
a  maximum  of  two  thousand  francs. 

I  request  Monsieur  de  Sérizy  to  devote  the  sum  of  forty 
thousand  francs  to  a  monument  to  be  erected  in  the  East- 
ern Cemetery  over  Mademoiselle  Esther  ;  and  I  direct  that 
I  be  buried  beside  her.  This  monument  is  to  be  made  like 
the  tombs  of  antiquity;  it  shall  be  square,  and  our  two 
forms  in  white  marble  shall  lie  upon  the  lid,  the  heads  rest- 
ing on  cushions,  the  hands  clasped  and  raised  to  heaven. 
This  tomb  is  to  have  no  inscription. 

I  request  Monsieur  de  Sérizy  to  give  to  Monsieur  Eugène 
de  Rastignac  the  toilet-set  in  gold  which  will  be  found  in 
my  room,  as  a  remembrance. 

Lastly,  I  request  my  executor  to  accept  from  me  the  gift 
I  make  him  of  my  library. 

Lucien  Chardon  de  Rubempré\ 


356 


Lucien  de  Uuhemprê. 


This  will  was  enclosed  in  a  letter  addressed  to  Mon- 
sieur le  Comte  de  Granville,  attorney-general  of  the 
Royal  Court  of  Paris,  and  thus  worded  :  — 

Monsieur  le  Comte,  —  I  intrust  to  you  my  will.  When 
you  open  this  letter  I  shall  be  no  more.  In  the  hope  of 
recovering  my  liberty  I  replied  so  basely  to  the  insidious 
questions  of  Monsieur  Camusot  that,  in  spite  of  my  in- 
nocence, I  may  be  involved  in  an  infamous  trial.  Even 
supposing  me  to  be  acquitted  of  all  blame,  life  would  be 
impossible  according  to  the  susceptibilities  of  the  world. 

Forward,  I  beg  of  you,  the  enclosed  letter  to  the  Abbé  Don 
Carlos  Herrera,  without  opening  it;  and  send  to  Monsieur 
Camusot  the  formal  retractation  of  my  testimony  which  I 
enclose. 

I  think  that  the  authorities  will  not  dare  to  break  the 
seal  of  a  package  directed  to  you.  Confident  of  this,  I  bid 
you  farewell,  offering  you  for  the  last  time  my  respects,  and 
begging  you  to  believe  that  in  thus  writing  I  have  meant 
to  give  you  a  mark  of  gratitude  for  all  the  many  kindnesses 
you  have  shown  to 

Your  servitor, 

Lucien  de  R. 

To  the  Abbé  Carlos  Herrera  : 

My  dear  Abbé,  —  I  have  received  nothing  but  bene- 
fits from  you,  and  I  have  betrayed  you.  This  involuntary 
ingratitude  kills  me,  and  when  you  read  these  lines  I  shall 
no  longer  exist,  —  you  are  no  longer  here  to  save  me. 

You  gave  me  full  right,  in  case  I  found  an  advantage 
in  it,  to  sacrifice  you,  and  throw  you  away  like  the  end  of 
a  cigar;  but  I  have  sacrificed  you  foolishly.  To  get  my- 
self out  of  difficulty,  misled  by  the  captious  questioning 
of  the  examining  judge,  I,  your  spiritual  son,  whom  you 
adopted,  went  over  to  the  side  of  those  who  wish  at  anv 


Lucien  de  Bubemjpré. 


357 


cost  to  destroy  you  by  discovering  an  identity  (which  1 
know  to  be  impossible)  between  you  and  a  French  criminal. 
All  is  over. 

Between  a  man  of  your  power  and  me,  of  whom  you  have 
tried  to  make  a  greater  person  than  I  could  be,  there  should 
be  no  silly  sentiment  at  the  moment  of  our  final  parting. 
You  have  wished  to  make  me  powerful  and  famous  ;  you 
have  flung  me  into  the  gulf  of  suicide  —  that  is  all.  I  have 
long  seen  its  vertigo  approaching  me. 

There  is,  as  you  once  said,  a  posterity  of  Cain,  and  one  of 
Abel.  Cain,  in  the  grand  drama  of  humanity,  is  Opposi- 
tion. You  are  descended  from  Adam  by  that  line,  into  which 
the  devil  has  continued  to  blow  his  flame,  the  first  sparks 
of  which  were  cast  on  Eve.  Among  the  demons  of  this 
descent  some  appear,  from  time  to  time,  of  terrible  vigor, 
of  vast  organization,  combining  all  human  forces,  and  re- 
sembling those  rampant  animals  of  the  desert  whose  life 
requires  the  great  spaces  in  which  they  are  found.  These 
men  are  dangerous  to  society,  as  lions  would  be  dangerous 
in  Normandy  :  they  must  have  food  ;  they  devour  common 
men,  and  suck  the  gold  of  fools  ;  even  their  games  are  so 
perilous  that  they  end  by  killing  the  poor  dog  df  whom 
they  make  a  companion,  an  idol.  When  God  wills  it,  these 
mysterious  beings  are  named  Moses,  Attila,  Charlemagne, 
Robespierre,  ISTapoleon  ;  but  when  he  lets  a  generation  of 
these  gigantic  instruments  rust  in  the  depths  of  ocean  they 
are  nothing  more  than  Pugatcheff,  Fouché,  Louvel,  and 
Carlos  Herrera.  Gifted  with  a  mighty  power  over  tender 
souls,  they  attract  and  knead  them.  'T  is  grand,  't  is  fine 
in  its  way;  'tis  the  poisonous  plant  with  glowing  colors 
that  entices  children  in  a  wood  ;  't  is  the  poesy  of  Evil. 
Men  like  you  should  live  in  lairs  and  never  leave  them. 
You  made  me  live  within  the  circle  of  this  stupendous  life, 
and  I  have  had  my  fill  of  existence.  Therefore  I  withdraw 
my  head  from  the  Gordian  knot  of  your  policy  to  fasten  ii 
in  the  running  noose  of  my  cravat. 


358 


Lucien  de  Rulemprê. 


To  repair  my  fault,  I  transmit  to  the  attorney-general  a 
formal  retractation  of  my  testimony.  You  will  see  to  its 
being  of  service  to  you. 

In  pursuance  of  my  will  you  will  receive,  Monsieur  l'abbé, 
the  sums  belonging  to  your  Order  which  you  spent,  most 
imprudently,  on  me,  in  consequence  of  the  paternal  affection 
you  have  always  shown  me. 

Farewell,  then,  farewell,  grandiose  statue  of  Evil  and  cor- 
ruption ;  farewell,  you,  who  in  the  path  of  Good  would  have 
been  greater  than  Ximenes,  greater  than  Richelieu.  You 
have  kept  your  promises  ;  I  find  myself  once  more  on  the 
banks  of  the  Charente,  after  owing  to  you  the  enchantments 
of  a  dream  ;  but,  unfortunately,  it  is  not  the  river  of  mine 
own  country  in  which  I  was  about  to  drown  the  peccadilloes 
of  my  youth,  —  it  is  the  Seine,  and  my  pool  is  a  cell  in  the 
Conciergerie. 

Do  not  regret  me.  My  contempt  for  you  is  equal  to  my 
admiration. 

Lucien. 

Declaration. 

I,  the  undersigned,  do  hereby  retract  entirely  all  that  is 
contained  in  the  report  of  the  examination  which  I  was 
made  to  undergo  this  day  by  Monsieur  Camusot. 

The  Abbé  Carlos  Herrera  was  in  the  habit  of  calling  him- 
self my  spiritual  father  ;  and  I  mistook  the  word  when  used 
by  the  judge  in  another  sense,  no  doubt  erroneously. 

I  know  that,  for  political  reasons  and  to  destroy  the  ex- 
istence of  certain  secrets  which  concern  the  cabinets  of 
Spain  and  the  Tuileries,  obscure  diplomatic  agents  are  en- 
deavoring to  show  that  the  Abbé  Carlos  Herrera  is  an 
escaped  convict  named  Jacques  Collin  ;  but  the  said  Abbé 
Carlos  Herrera  never  made  me  any  other  confidence  on  this 
subject  beyond  that  of  his  efforts  to  prove  either  the  de- 
cease or  the  existence  of  the  said  Jacques  Collin. 

At  the  Conciergerie,  May  15,  1830. 

Lucien  de  Rubemhbe*. 


Lucien  de  Bubemprt. 


359 


The  fever  of  suicide  gave  to  Lucien  the  same  lucid- 
ity of  ideas  and  activity  of  hand  which  are  known  to 
authors  in  the  heat  and  fever  of  composition.  So  great 
was  this  impulse  in  him  that  these  four  papers  were 
written  in  the  space  of  half  an  hour.  He  made  them 
into  a  package,  fastened  the  package  with  wafers  and 
stamped  them,  with  the  force  of  delirium,  with  a  seal 
bearing  his  coat-of-arms  that  he  wore  on  his  finger. 
Then  he  placed  the  package  conspicuously  on  the  floor 
in  the  middle  of  the  room. 

Certainly  it  would  have  been  difficult  to  act  with 
more  dignity  in  the  false  position  to  which  infant  had 
brought  Lucien.  He  saved  his  own  memory,  and  he 
repaired  the  wrong  done  to  his  accomplice,  so  far  as 
the  mind  of  the  man  of  the  world  could  annul  the 
effects  of  his  actions. 

If  Lucien  had  been  placed  in  one  of  the  secret-con- 
finement cells,  he  would  have  found  it  impossible  to 
canyr  out  his  design  ;  for  those  boxes  of  smooth  stone 
have  no  furniture  but  a  species  of  camp-bedstead  and  a 
bucket.  There  is  not  a  nail,  not  a  chair,  not  even  a 
stool.  The  camp  bedstead  is  so  securely  fastened  that 
it  is  impossible  to  remove  it  from  its  place  without  a 
labor  that  would  soon  be  noticed  by  the  turnkej'  through 
the  iron  grating,  which  is  always  open.  In  the  rooms 
of  the  Pistole,  and  especially  in  that  where  Lucien  had 
been  placed  by  the  judge's  orders  out  of  regard  for  a 
young  man  belonging  to  the  highest  class  of  Parisian 
society,  the  movable  bedstead,  a  table,  and  a  chair 
could  all  serve  the  purpose  of  suicide,  without,  how- 
ever, making  it  easy.  Lucien  wore  a  long  black  silk 
Cravat,  and,  on  his  way  back  from  examination  he  rec* 


360 


Lucien  de  BubemprS. 


ollected  the  manner  in  which  Pichegru,  more  or  lésa 
voluntarily,  killed  himself.  Death  by  hanging  requires 
a  strong  support  and  sufficient  space  between  the  body 
and  the  ground  to  prevent  the  feet  from  touching  any- 
thing. Now  the  window  of  his  cell  looking  on  the 
préau  had  no  fastening,  and  the  iron  bars  that  pro- 
tected it  on  the  outside  were  the  whole  width  of  a  thick 
wall  awa}-  from  the  room,  and  gave  him  therefore  no 
point  of  support. 

The  plan  that  his  faculty  of  invention  suggested 
rapidly  to  Lucien's  mind  was  as  follows  :  The  high 
and  deep  recess  of  the  window,  which  resembled  a  fun- 
nel, prevented  Lucien  from  looking  out  into  the  préau, 
but  it  also  prevented  the  turnkey  from  seeing  what 
took  place  about  it.  Now,  though  the  lower  window- 
panes  had  been  replaced  by  wooden  planks,  the  glass 
remained  in  the  upper  portion  of  the  sash,  divided  into 
small  panes  with  a  heavy  frame  and  cross-bars.  By 
mounting  on  the  table,  Lucien  could  reacl|  the  glazed 
portion  of  the  window,  and,  b}T  removing  or  breaking 
two  panes,  he  could  use  the  strong  cross-bar  between 
them  as  his  point  of  support.  He  resolved  to  do  this  : 
to  pass  his  cravat  around  the  bar,  making  a  turn  about 
his  own  neck  and  fastening  the  end  securely,  and  then 
to  knock  away  the  table  from  under  him  with  his  feet. 

He  moved  the  table  to  the  window  noiselessly,  took 
off  his  coat  and  waistcoat,  and  mounted  the  table  with- 
out the  least  hesitation,  to  remove  the  panes  above  and 
below  the  first  cross-bar.  When  he  was  thus  raised 
he  could  look  into  the  préau,  and  there  he  beheld  a 
magic  spectacle,  seen  by  him  for  the  first  time  ;  for 
the  director  of  the  Conciergerie,  following  Monsieur 


Lucien  de  Buhemprê. 


361 


Carnusot's  order,  had  sent  Lucien  to  his  cell  through  the 
underground  passages,  so  as  not  to  expose  him  to  the 
gaze  of  the  prisoners  who  were  walking  in  the  préau. 
The  reader  shall  judge  whether  the  sight  of  that  prome- 
nade was  of  a  nature  to  strongly  affect  the  soul  of  a 
poet. 

The  préau  of  the  Conciergerie  is  flanked  on  the  quay 
by  the  Tour  d'Argent  and  the  Tour  Bonbec, — the 
space  between  the  two  towers  being  exactly  the  width 
of  the  préau.  The  Galerie  de  Saint  Louis,  which  leads 
from  the  Galerie  Marchande  to  the  Court  of  Appeals 
and  to  the  Bonbec  tower  (in  which,  they  say,  St.  Louis' 
study  still  exists)  gives  the  length  of  the  préau  pre- 
cisely. The  solitary-confinement  cells  and  the  pistoles 
are  under  the  Galerie  Marchande.  Marie  Antoinette, 
whose  dungeon  was  beneath  the  present  secret  cells, 
was  led  to  the  revolution  an"  tribunal,  which  held  its  sit- 
tings in  the  Court  of  Appeals,  by  a  dreadful  staircase 
cut  m  the  thickness  of  the  wall  of  the  Galerie  Mar- 
chande. One  side  of  the  préau,  the  side  of  the  Galerie 
de  Saint  Louis,  presents  to  the  eye  a  perspective  of 
Gothic  columns,  between  which  the  architects  of  I 
know  not  what  epoch  have  constructed  two  rows  of 
cells  to  accommodate  as  many  accused  persons  as  pos- 
sible, —  filling  up  with  brick  and  plaster  the  beautiful 
capitals,  the  pointed  arches,  and  the  shafts  of  columns 
of  the  glorious  gallery.  Beneath  the  room  said  to  be 
Saint  Louis'  study,  in  the  Bonbec  tower,  is  a  cork- 
screw staircase  which  leads  to  the  cells.  This  prostitu- 
tion of  the  noblest  memories  of  France  has  a  hideous 
effect. 

At  the  height  where  Lucien  now  stood,  his  eye  took 


362 


Lucien  de  Ruhemprê. 


in  the  length  of  the  beautiful  galley,  and  the  details  of 
the  structure  which  united  it  to  the  two  towers  of  which 
he  saw  the  pointed  roofs.  He  paused,  amazed  ;  his 
suicide  was  delayed  b}'  admiration.  To-day  the  phe- 
nomena of  hallucination  are  so  fully  admitted  by  sci- 
ence that  this  mirage  of  our  senses,  this  strange  faculty 
of  our  mind,  is  no  longer  disputed.  Man,  having  under 
the  pressure  of  a  sentiment  reached  the  point  of  be 
coming  a  monomaniac  because  of  its  intensity,  often 
falls  into  the  condition  produced  by  opium,  hashish,  or 
the  protoxide  of  nitrogen.  Then  appear  to  him  spec- 
tres, phantoms  ;  dreams  take  shapes  ;  things  ruined  or 
decayed  resume  their  primitive  conditions.  What  had 
been  but  a  mere  idea  in  the  brain  becomes  an  animated 
creation.  Science  has  come  to  believe  in  these  days 
that  under  the  effort  of  passions  in  their  paroxysm  the 
brain  injects  itself  with  blood,  and  that  this  congestion 
produces  the  play  of  visions  in  our  waking  state,  —  so 
reluctant  is  it  to  admit  that  thought  is  a  living  force  ! 

Lucien  saw  the  Palais  in  all  its  primitive  beauty. 
The  colonnade  was  young,  and  lithesome,  and  fresh. 
The  dwelling  of  Saint  Louis  reappeared  as  it  had  been  ; 
he  admired  the  Babylonian  proportions  and  the  Oriental 
fantasies  of  that  cradle  of  our  kings.  He  accepted 
this  sublime  vision  as  the  poetic  farewell  to  him  of 
civilized  creation.  While  arranging  his  means  of  death, 
he  asked  himself  how  it  was  that  this  marvellous  sight 
existed  unknown  in  Paris.  He  was  two  Luciens,  — 
Lucien,  the  poet,  moving  through  the  middle- ages, 
beneath  the  arches  and  the  towers  of  Saint  Louis  ;  and 
Lucien,  making  read}'  his  suicide. 

When  Monsieur  de  Granville  left  his  office  to  find,  as 


Lucien  de  Bube-mjprê. 


363 


he  had  said,  the  ushers  to  fetch  Lucien,  the  director 
of  the  Conciergerie  met  him,  with  an  expression  on  his 
face  that  induced  the  attorney-general  to  re-enter  it. 
In  his  hand  the  director  held  a  packet,  which  he  offered 
to  Monsieur  de  Granville,  saying  ;  — 

"Monsieur,  here  is  a  letter  addressed  to  you  by  an 
accused  person  whose  sad  fate  brings  me  here." 

"  Can  it  be  Monsieur  Lucien  de  Rubempré?"  asked 
Monsieur  de  Granville,  struck  by  a  presentiment. 

"Yes,  monsieur.  The  warder  in  the  préau  heard 
the  breaking  of  glass  in  the  Pistole,  and  the  person  in 
the  adjoining  cell,  hearing  the  death  groans  of  the  un- 
fortunate young  man,  screamed  violently.  The  warder 
came  to  me  quite  pale  with  the  sight  that  had  struck 
his  eyes,  —  he  had  seen  the  prisoner  hanging  at  the 
window  by  means  of  his  cravat." 

Though  the  director  spoke  in  a  low  voice,  the  terrible 
cry  uttered  by  Madame  de  Sérizy  proved  that  in  cru- 
cial circumstances  our  organs  have  incalculable  power. 
The  countess  heard,  or  divined,  the  truth  ;  and  before 
Monsieur  de  Granville  could  turn  round,  before  Mon- 
sieur de  Sérizy  or  Monsieur  de  Bauvan  could  oppose 
her  rapid  movements,  she  had  slipped,  like  a  flash, 
through  the  door,  and  had  reached  the  Galerie  Mar- 
chande, along  which  she  ran  till  she  came  to  the  stair- 
case that  leads  to  the  rue  de  la  Barillerie. 

A  lawyer  was  taking  off  his  robe  at  the  door  of  one 
of  the  booths  in  the  gallery,  where  at  that  time  they 
sold  shoes,  or  leased  robes  and  wigs.  The  countess 
asked  him  the  way  to  the  Conciergerie. 

"Down  there,  and  turn  to  the  left;  the  entrance  is 
on  the  Quai  de  l'Horloge,  first  arcade." 


364 


Lucien  de  Rubcmprê. 


"  That  woman  is  mad,"  said  the  keeper  of  the  booth  ; 
* 4  some  one  should  follow  her." 

No  one  could  have  followed  her  ;  she  flew.  Physi- 
cians must  explain  how  women  of  society,  whose 
strength  is  never  used,  can  find  in  the  crises  of  life 
the  extraordinary  power  which  the}'  show.  She  rushed 
along  the  arcade  toward  the  guichet  with  such  rapidity 
that  the  sentinel  did  not  see  her  enter.  There  she  fell 
against  the  iron  railing  like  a  feather  driven  by  the 
wind,  and  shook  the  iron  bars  with  such  fur}'  that  she 
broke  the  one  she  had  seized.  The  two  ends  struck 
her  on  the  breast,  from  which  the  blood  flowed,  and  she 
sank  down,  crying,  "Open!  open!"  in  a  voice  which 
horrified  the  jailers. 

The  turnkeys  ran  to  her. 

"  Open  !  I  am  sent  by  the  attorney-general  to  save 
the  dead  !  " 

While  the  countess  was  going  round  by  the  rue  de  la 
Barillerie  and  the  Quai  de  l'Horloge,  her  husband  and 
Monsieur  de  Granville  had  hurried  through  the  interior 
of  the  Palais  to  the  Conciergerie,  feeling  sure  of  her 
intentions.  In  spite  of  their  haste,  they  did  not  get 
there  until  she  had  fallen,  fainting,  at  the  railing,  and 
was  being  lifted  by  the  gendarmes,  who  came  down 
from  the  guard-room.  AVhen  the  director,  who  accom- 
panied the  two  gentlemen,  appeared,  the  guichet  was 
opened,  and  the  countess  carried  into  the  office.  There 
she  sprang  up,  clasping  her  hands,  and  crying  out  :  — 

"  To  see  him  !  to  see  him  !  Oh,  messieurs,  I  will  do 
no  harm!  But  let  me  see  him,  dead  or  living!  Ah! 
there  you  are,  my  friend.  Oh,  you  are  good  !  "  she  said 
to  her  husband,  sinking  down  again. 


Lucien  de  Eubemjprê. 


365 


"  Let  us  carry  her  away,"  said  Monsieur  de  Bauvan. 

"No,  let  us  go  to  Lucien's  cell,"  said  Monsieur  de 
Granville,  reading  that  wish  in  the  alarmed  eyes  of 
Monsieur  de  Sérizy. 

He  lifted  the  countess,  and  took  one  arm,  while  Mon- 
sieur de  Bauvan  took  the  other. 

"  Monsieur,"  said  the  Comte  de  Sérizy  to  the  director, 
"you  will  be  as  silent  as  death  about  all  this." 

44  Be  sure  of  that,"  replied  the  director.  "  You  have 
done  wisely.    This  lady  —  " 

"  She  is  my  wife." 

44 Ah,  excuse  me!  "Well,  she  will  certainly  faint 
awa}7  entirety  when  she  sees  the  bod}*,  and  you  can 
carry  her  while  unconscious  to  a  carriage." 

44  That  is  what  I  was  thinking,"  said  the  count. 
44  Will  you  send  one  of  your  men  to  tell  my  people  in 
the  rue  du  Haiiey  to  come  round  to  the  guichet  f 
There  is  only  one  carriage  there." 

44  We  can  save  him,"  said  the  countess,  walking  with 
a  courage  and  energy  that  surprised  her  companions. 
4 'There  are  many  ways  of  restoring  life,"  and  she 
dragged  along  the  two  magistrates,  crying  out  to  the 
warder,  44  Go  on,  go  on  !  quicker,  quicker  !  one  second 
may  save  his  life  !  " 

When  the  door  of  the  cell  was  opened,  and  the 
countess  saw  Lucien  hanging  as  his  clothes  might  have 
hung  in  a  wardrobe,  she  made  a  bound  forward  as  if  to 
seize  him,  but  fell,  with  her  face  to  the  floor  of  the  cell, 
uttering  stifled  cries  that  were  like  a  gurgle. 

Five  minutes  later  she  was  being  taken  in  the  count's 
carnage  to  her  own  house,  her  husband  kneeling  beside 
her.  The  Comte  de  Bauvan  had  gone  to  summon  her 
physician. 


366 


Lucien  de  Rubemprê. 


The  director  of  the  Conciergerie  examined  the  broken 
iron  bar  of  the  outer  gate  of  the  guichet,  and  said  to 
his  clerk  :  — 

"Nothing  was  spared  to  make  those  gates  strong  ; 
the  bars  are  wrought  iron.  They  cost  an  immense  sum  ; 
there  must  have  been  a  straw  in  that  bar." 

The  attorney-general,  on  reaching  his  office,  said  to 
Massol,  whom  he  found  waiting  for  him  in  the  ante- 
chamber :  — 

"  Monsieur,  I  wish  you  to  put  what  I  shall  now  dic- 
tate to  you  in  the  '  Gazette  '  to-morrow  morning.  You 
can  write  the  beginning  of  the  article,  but  this  statement 
must  be  contained  in  it." 

And  he  dictated  as  follows  :  — 

"It  is  now  admitted  that  Mademoiselle  Esther  killed 
herself  voluntarily. 

"  The  alibi,  amply  proved,  of  Monsieur  Lucien  de  Ru- 
bemprê, and  his  innocence,  make  it  the  more  regrettable 
that  he  should  have  been  arrested,  because  at  the  very 
moment  the  examining  judge  was  about  to  sign  the  order 
for  his  release,  the  young  man  died  suddenly." 

4 '  Your  future,  monsieur,"  said  the  count  to  Massol, 
"  depends  upon  your  discreetness  as  to  the  little  service 
I  now  ask  of  you." 

"  As  Monsieur  le  comte  does  me  the  honor  to  place 
confidence  in  me,  I  shall  take  the  liberty,"  replied 
Massol,  "of  offering  him  a  suggestion.  This  article 
may  excite  injurious  comments  upon  the  judiciary." 

"  The  judiciary  is  strong  enough  to  bear  them,"  said 
the  magistrate. 

44  Permit  me,  monsieur  le  comte!  With  a  trifling 
change  of  phrase  all  danger  can  be  avoided." 


Lucien  de  Bubenvpré. 


367 


And  he  wrote  as  follows  :  — 

**  The  legal  proceedings  had  nothing  to  do  with  this  sad 
event.  The  autopsy,  which  was  immediately  performed, 
showed  that  death  was  due  to  aneurism  in  its  last  stages. 
Had  Monsieur  de  Rubempré  been  affected  by  his  arrest,  his 
death  would  have  occurred  earlier.  "We  are  able  to  declare 
that  so  far  from  being  troubled  by  that  arrest,  he  laughed 
at  it,  and  told  those  who  accompanied  him  from  Fontaine- 
bleau to  Paris  that  as  soon  as  he  appeared  before  a  magis- 
trate his  innocence  would  appear." 

"Will  not  that  protect  all?"  asked  the  lawyer- 
journalist. 

"  I  thank  you,  monsieur,"  replied  the  attorney- 
general. 

Thus  we  see  how  great  events  of  life  are  presented 
in  the  "local  items,"  more  or  less  veracious,  of  the 
daily  press. 


THE  DUCHESSE  DE  LANGEAIS. 


7b  FRANZ  LIST3L 


"  They  then  saw  in  the  ante-chamber  to  an  inner  cell, 
the  dead  body  of  the  duchess  lying  on  the  floor 
upon  a  plank  of  her  bed," 


I 


SCENES  FROM  PARISIAN  LIFE. 


THE  DUCHESSE  DE  LANGEAIS.1 
I. 

In  a  Spanish  town  on  an  island  of  the  Mediterranean 
there  is  a  convent  of  the  Bare-footed  Carmelites,  where 
the  rule  of  the  Order  instituted  by  Saint  Theresa  is  still 
kept  with  the  primitive  rigor  of  the  reformation  brought 
about  by  that  illustrious  woman.  Extraordinary  as  this 
fact  may  seem,  it  is  true.  Though  the  monasteries  of 
the  Peninsula  and  those  of  the  Continent  were  nearly 
all  destroyed  or  broken  up  by  the  outburst  of  the 
French  Revolution  and  the  turmoil  of  the  Napoleonic 
wars,  yet  on  this  island,  protected  by  the  British  fleets, 
the  wealthy  convent  and  its  peaceful  inmates  we/e 
sheltered  from  the  dangers  of  change  and  general  spo- 
liation. The  storms  from  all  quarters  which  shook  the 
first  fifteen  years  of  the  nineteenth  century  subsided  ere 
they  reached  this  lonely  rock  near  the  coast  of  Andalu- 
sia. If  the  name  of  the  great  Emperor  echoed  fitfully 
upon  its  shores,  it  may  be  doubted  whether  the  fantastic 
march  of  his  glory  or  the  flaming  majesty  of  his  meteoric 
life  ever  reached  the  comprehension  of  those  saintly 
women  kneeling  in  their  distant  cloister. 

1  The  Duchesse  de  Langeais  is  one  of  the  series  of  three  stories 
called  "  Histoire  Des  Treize." 


372 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


A  conventual  rigor,  which  was  never  relaxed,  gave 
to  this  haven  a  special  place  in  the  thoughts  and  history 
of  the  Catholic  world.  The  purity  of  its  rule  drew  to 
its  shelter  from  different  parts  of  Europe  sad  women, 
whose  souls  deprived  of  human  ties  longed  for  the 
death  in  life  which  they  found  here  in  the  bosom  of 
God.  No  other  convent  was  so  fitted  to  wean  the  heart 
and  teach  it  that  aloofness  from  the  things  of  this  world 
which  the  religious  life  imperatively  demands.  On  the 
Continent  may  be  found  a  number  of  such  Houses, 
nobly  planned  to  meet  the  wants  of  their  sacred  pur- 
pose. Some  are  buried  in  the  depths  of  solitaiy  val- 
le}Ts  ;  others  hang,  as  it  were,  in  mid-air  above  the 
hills,  clinging  to  the  mountain  slopes  or  projecting  from 
the  verge  of  precipices.  On  all  sides  man  has  sought 
out  the  poesy  of  the  infinite,  the  solemnit}'  of  silence  : 
he  has  sought  God  ;  and  on  the  mountain-tops,  in  the 
abyssmal  depths,  among  the  caverned  cliffs,  he  has 
found  Him.  Yet  nowhere  as  on  this  European  islet, 
half  African  though  it  be,  can  he  find  such  differing 
harmonies  all  blending  to  lift  the  soul  and  quell  its 
springs  of  anguish  ;  to  cool  its  fevers,  and  give  to  the 
sorrows  of  life  a  bed  of  rest. 

The  monastery  is  built  at  the  extremity  of  the  island 
at  its  highest  part,  where  the  rock  by  some  convulsion 
of  Nature  has  been  rent  sharply  down  to  the  sea,  and 
presents  at  all  points  keen  angles  and  edges,  slightly 
eaten  awajr  at  the  water-line  b}*  the  action  of  the  waves, 
but  insurmountable  to  all  approach.  The  rock  is  also 
protected  from  assault  by  dangerous  reefs  running  far 
out  from  its  base,  over  which  frolic  the  blue  waters  of 
the  Mediterranean.    It  is  only  from  the  sea  that  the 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais, 


373 


visitor  can  perceive  the  four  principal  parts  of  the 
square  structure,  which  adheres  minutely  as  to  shape, 
height,  and  the  piercing  of  its  windows  to  the  prescribed 
laws  of  monastic  architecture.  On  the  side  towards 
the  town  the  church  hides  the  massive  lines  of  the 
cloister,  whose  roof  is  covered  with  large  tiles  to  protect 
it  from  winds  and  storms,  and  also  from  the  fierce  heat 
of  the  sun.  The  church,  the  gift  of  a  Spanish  family, 
looks  down  upon  the  town  and  crowns  it.  Its  bold  yet 
elegant  façade  gives  a  noble  aspect  to  the  little  mari- 
time city.  Is  it  not  a  picture  of  terrestrial  sublimity? 
See  the  tiny  town  with  clustering  roofs,  rising  like  an 
amphitheatre  from  the  picturesque  port  upward  to  the 
noble  Gothic  frontal  of  the  church,  from  which  spring 
the  slender  shafts  of  the  bell- towers  with  their  pointed 
finials  :  religion  dominating  life  ;  offering  to  man  the 
end  and  the  way  of  living,  —  image  of  a  thought  alto- 
gether Spanish.  Place  this  scene  upon  the  bosom  of 
the  Mediterranean  beneath  an  ardent  sky  ;  plant  it 
with  palms  whose  waving  fronds  mingle  their  green 
life  with  the  sculptured  leafage  of  the  immutable  archi- 
tecture ;  look  at  the  white  fringes  of  the  sea  as  it 
runs  up  the  reef  and  they  sparkle  upon  the  sapphire 
of  its  wave  ;  see  the  galleries  and  the  terraces  built 
upon  the  roofs  of  houses,  where  the  inhabitants  come 
at  eve  to  breathe  the  flower-scented  air  as  it  rises 
through  the  tree-tops  from  their  little  gardens.  Be- 
low, in  the  harbor,  are  the  white  sails.  The  serenity 
of  night  is  coming  on  ;  listen  to  the  notes  of  the  organ, 
the  chant  of  evening  orisons,  the  echoing  bells  of  the 
ships  at  sea:  on  all  sides  sound  and  peace, — oftenest 
peace. 


374  The  Duchesse  de  Langeais* 


Within  the  church  are  three  naves,  dark  and  mysteri* 
ous.  The  fury  of  the  winds  evidently  forbade  the 
architect  to  build  out  lateral  buttresses,  such  as  adorn 
all  other  cathedrals,  and  between  which  little  chapels 
are  usually  constructed.  Thus  the  strong  walls  which 
flank  the  lesser  naves  shed  no  light  into  the  building. 
Outside,  their  gray  masses  are  shored  up  from  point  to 
point  b}T  enormous  beams.  The  great  nave  and  its  two 
small  lateral  galleries  are  lighted  solely  by  the  rose- 
window  of  stained  glass,  which  pierces  with  miraculous 
art  the  wall  above  the  great  portal,  whose  fortunate  ex- 
posure permits  a  wealth  of  tracery  and  dentellated  stone- 
work belonging  to  that  order  of  architecture  miscalled 
Gothic. 

The  greater  part  of  the  three  naves  is  given  up  to 
the  inhabitants  of  the  town  who  come  to  hear  Mass  and 
the  Offices  of  the  Church.  In  front  of  the  choir  is  a 
latticed  screen,  within  which  brown  curtains  hang  in 
ample  folds,  slightly  parted  in  the  middle  to  give  a 
limited  view  of  the  altar  and  the  officiating  priest.  The 
screen  is  divided  at  intervals  by  pillars  that  hold  up  a 
gallery  within  the  choir  which  contains  the  organ.  This 
construction,  in  harmon}r  with  the  rest  of  the  building, 
continues,  in  sculptured  wood,  the  little  columns  of  the 
lateral  galleries  which  are  supported  b}-  the  pillars  of 
the  great  nave.  Thus  it  is  impossible  for  the  boldest 
curiosity,  if  any  such  should  dare  to  mount  the  narrow 
balustrade  of  these  galleries,  to  see  farther  into  the 
choir  than  the  octagonal  stained  windows  which  pierce 
the  apse  behind  the  high  altar. 

At  the  time  of  the  French  expedition  into  Spain  for 
the  purpose  of  re-establishing  the  authority  of  Ferdinand 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais, 


375 


VIL,  and  after  the  fall  of  Cadiz,  a  French  general  who 
was  sent  to  the  island  to  obtain  its  recognition  of  the 
royal  government  prolonged  his  stay  upon  it  that  he 
might  reconnoitre  the  convent  and  gain,  if  possible, 
admittance  there.  The  enterprise  was  a  delicate  one. 
But  a  man  of  passion,  —  a  man  whose  life  had  been,  so 
to  speak,  a  series  of  poems  in  action,  who  had  lived 
romances  instead  of  writing  them  ;  above  all,  a  man  of 
deeds,  — might  well  be  tempted  by  a  project  apparently 
so  impossible.  To  open  for  himself  legally  the  gates  of 
a  convent  of  women  !  The  Pope  and  the  Metropolitan 
Archbishop  would  scarcely  sanction  it.  Should  he  use 
force  or  artifice  ?  In  case  of  failure  was  he  not  certain 
to  lose  his  station  and  his  military  future,  besides  miss- 
ing his  aim  ?  The  Duc  d'Angoulême  was  still  in  Spain  ; 
and  of  all  the  indiscretions  which  an  officer  in  favor 
with  the  commander-in-chief  could  commit,  this  alone 
would  be  punished  without  pity.  The  general  had  so- 
licited his  present  mission  for  the  purpose  of  following 
up  a  secret  hope,  albeit  no  hope  was  ever  so  despairing. 
This  last  effort,  however,  was  a  matter  of  conscience. 
The  house  of  these  Bare-footed  Carmelites  was  the  only 
Spanish  convent  which  had  escaped  his  search.  While 
crossing  from  the  mainland,  a  voj'age  which  took  less 
than  an  hour,  a  strong  presentiment  of  success  had 
seized  his  heart.  Since  then,  although  he  had  seen 
nothing  of  the  convent  but  its  walls,  nothing  of  the 
nuns,  not  so  much  as  their  brown  habit  ;  though  he  had 
heard  only  the  echoes  of  their  chanted  liturgies,  — he 
had  gathered  from  those  walls  and  from  these  chants 
faint  indications  that  seemed  to  justify-  his  fragile  hope. 
Slight  as  the  auguries  thus  capriciously  awakened 


376 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


might  be,  no  human  passion  was  ever  more  violently 
roused  than  the  curiosity  of  this  French  general  To 
the  heart  there  are  no  insignificant  events  ;  it  magnifies 
all  things  ;  it  puts  in  the  same  balance  the  fall  of  an 
empire  and  the  fall  of  a  woman's  glove,  —  and  oftentimes 
the  glove  outweighs  the  empire.  But  let  us  give  the 
facts  in  their  actual  simplicity  :  after  the  facts  will  come 
the  feelings. 

An  hour  after  the  expedition  had  landed  on  the  island 
the  royal  authority  was  re-established.  A  few  Spaniards 
who  had  taken  refuge  there  after  the  fall  of  Cadiz  em- 
barked on  a  vessel  which  the  general  allowed  them  to 
charter  for  their  vo}'age  to  London.  There  was  thus 
neither  resistance  nor  reaction.  This  little  insular  res- 
toration could  not,  however,  be  accomplished  without 
a  Mass,  at  which  both  companies  of  the  troops  were 
ordered  to  be  present.  Not  knowing  the  rigor  of  the 
Carmelite  rule,  the  general  hoped  to  gain  in  the  church 
some  information  about  the  nuns  who  were  immured  in 
the  convent,  one  of  whom  might  be  a  being  dearer  to 
him  than  life,  more  precious  even  than  honor.  His 
hopes  were  at  first  cruelty  disappointed.  Mass  was 
celebrated  with  the  utmost  pomp.  In  honor  of  this 
solemn  occasion  the  curtains  which  habitually  hid  the 
choir  were  drawn  aside,  and  gave  to  view  the  rich  orna- 
ments, the  priceless  pictures,  and  the  shrines  incrusted 
with  jewels  whose  brilliancy  surpassed  that  of  the 
votive  offerings  fastened  by  the  mariners  of  the  port  to 
the  pillars  of  the  great  nave.  The  nuns,  however,  had 
retired  to  the  seclusion  of  the  organ  gallery. 

Yet  in  spite  of  this  check,  and  while  the  Mass  of 
thanksgiving  was  being  sung,  suddenly  and  secretly  the 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


377 


drama  widened  into  an  interest  as  profound  as  any  that 
ever  moved  the  heart  of  man.  The  Sister  who  pla}Ted 
the  organ  roused  an  enthusiasm  so  vivid  that  not  one 
soldier  present  regretted  the  order  which  had  brought 
him  to  the  church.  The  men  listened  to  the  music  with 
pleasure  ;  the  officers  were  carried  away  b}'  it.  As  for 
the  general,  he  remained  to  all  appearance  calm  and 
cold  :  the  feelings  with  which  he  heard  the  notes  given 
forth  b}'  the  nun  are  among  the  small  number  of  earthly 
things  whose  expression  is  withheld  from  impotent  hu- 
man speech,  but  which  —  like  death,  like  God,  like  eter- 
nity —  can  be  perceived  only  at  their  slender  point  of 
contact  with  the  heart  of  man.  By  a  strange  chance 
the  music  of  the  organ  seemed  to  be  that  of  Rossini,  — 
a  composer  who  more  than  any  other  has  carried  human 
passion  into  the  art  of  music,  and  whose  works  by  their 
number  and  extent  will  some  day  inspire  an  Homeric 
respect.  From  among  the  scores  of  this  fine  genius 
the  nun  seemed  to  have  chiefly  studied  that  of  Moses 
in  Egypt  ;  doubtless  because  the  feelings  of  sacred 
music  are  there  carried  to  the  highest  pitch.  Perhaps 
these  two  souls  — one  so  gloriously  European,  the  other 
unknown  —  had  met  together  in  some  intuitive  percep- 
tion of  the  same  poetic  thought.  This  idea  occurred  to 
two  officers  now  present,  true  dilettanti,  who  no  doubt 
keenly  regretted  the  Theatre  Favart  in  their  Spanish 
exile.  At  last,  at  the  Te  Deum,  it  was  impossible  not 
to  recognize  a  French  soul  in  the  character  which  the 
music  suddenly  took  on.  The  triumph  of  his  Most 
Christian  Majesty  evidently  roused  to  joy  the  heart  of 
that  cloistered  nun.  Surely  she  was  a  Frenchwoman. 
Presently  the  patriotic  spirit  burst  forth,  sparkling  like 


378 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


a  jet  of  light  through  the  antiphonals  of  the  organ,  as 
the  Sister  recalled  melodies  breathing  the  delicacy  of 
Parisian  taste,  and  blended  them  with  vague  memories 
of  our  national  anthems.  Spanish  hands  could  not 
have  put  into  this  graceful  homage  paid  to  victorious 
arms  the  fire  that  thus  betrayed  the  origin  of  the 
musician. 

"  France  is  ever}- where  !  "  said  a  soldier. 

The  general  left  the  church  during  the  Te  Deum  ;  it 
was  impossible  for  him  to  listen  to  it.  The  notes  of 
the  musician  revealed  to  him  a  woman  loved  to  mad- 
ness ;  who  had  buried  herself  so  deeply  in  the  heart  of 
religion,  hid  herself  so  carefully  away  from  the  sight 
of  the  world,  that  up  to  this  time  she  had  escaped  the 
keen  search  of  men  armed  not  only  with  immense  power, 
but  with  great  sagacit}r  and  intelligence.  The  hopes 
which  had  wakened  in  the  general's  heart  seemed  justi- 
fied as  he  listened  to  the  vague  echo  of  a  tender  and 
melancholy  air,  "  La  Fleuve  du  Tage,"  —  a  ballad  whose 
prelude  he  had  often  heard  in  Paris  in  the  boudoir  of 
the  woman  he  loved,  and  which  this  nun  now  used  to 
express,  amid  the  joj's  of  the  conquerors,  the  suffering 
of  an  exiled  heart.  Terrible  moment  !  to  long  for  the 
resurrection  of  a  lost  love  ;  to  find  that  love  —  still  lost  ; 
to  meet  it  m\Tsteriously  after  five  years  in  which  pas- 
sion, exasperated  by  the  void,  had  been  intensified  by 
the  useless  efforts  made  to  satisfy  it. 

Who  is  there  that  has  not,  once  at  least  in  his  life, 
upturned  everything  about  him,  his  papers  and  his 
receptacles,  taxing  his  memory  impatiently  as  he  seeks 
some  precious  lost  object;  and  then  felt  the  ineffable 
pleasure  of  finding  it  after  days  consumed  in  the  search, 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


379 


after  hoping  and  despairing  of  its  recovery,  —  spending 
upon  some  trifle  an  excitement  of  mind  almost  amount- 
ing to  a  passion?  Weil,  stretch  this  fury  of  search 
through  five  long  years  ;  put  a  woman,  a  heart,  a  love 
in  the  place  of  the  insignificant  trifle  ;  lift  the  passion 
into  the  highest  realms  of  feeling  ;  and  then  picture  to 
yourself  an  ardent  man,  a  man  with  the  heart  of  lion 
and  the  front  of  Jove,  one  of  those  men  who  command, 
and  communicate  to  those  about  them,  respectful  ter- 
ror, —  you  will  then  understand  the  abrupt  departure 
of  the  general  during  the  Te  Deum,  at  the  moment 
when  the  prelude  of  an  air,  once  heard  in  Paris  with 
delight  under  gilded  ceilings,  vibrated  through  the  dark 
naves  of  the  church  by  the  sea. 

He  went  down  the  hilly  street  which  led  up  to  the 
convent,  without  pausing  until  the  sonorous  echoes  of 
the  organ  could  no  longer  reach  his  ear.  Unable  to 
think  of  anything  but  of  the  love  that  like  a  volcanic 
eruption  rent  his  heart,  the  French  general  only  per- 
ceived that  the  Te  Deum  was  ended  when  the  Spanish 
contingent  poured  from  the  church.  He  felt  that  his 
conduct  and  appearance  were  open  to  ridicule,  and  he 
hastily  resumed  his  place  at  the  head  of  the  cavalcade, 
explaining  to  the  alcalde  and  to  the  governor  of  the 
town  that  a  sudden  indisposition  had  obliged  him  to 
come  out  into  the  air.  Then  it  suddenly  occurred  to 
him  to  use  the  pretext  thus  hastily  given,  as  a  means 
of  prolonging  his  stay  on  the  island.  Excusing  himself 
on  the  score  of  increased  illness,  he  declined  to  preside 
at  the  banquet  given  by  the  authorities  of  the  island  to 
the  French  officers,  and  took  to  his  bed,  after  writing  to 
the  major-general  that  a  passing  illness  compelled  him 


380 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


to  turn  over  his  command  to  the  colonel.  This  common- 
place artifice,  natural  as  it  was,  left  him  free  from  all 
duties  and  able  to  seek  the  fulfilment  of  his  hopes. 
Like  a  man  essentially  Catholic  and  monarchical,  he 
inquired  the  hours  of  the  various  services,  and  showed 
the  utmost  interest  in  the  duties  of  religion,  —  a  piety 
which  in  Spain  excited  no  surprise. 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais.  381 


n. 

The  following  day,  while  the  soldiers  were  embark- 
ing, the  general  went  up  to  the  convent  to  be  present 
at  vespers.  He  found  the  church  deserted  by  the 
townspeople,  who  in  spite  of  their  natural  devotion 
were  attracted  to  the  port  by  the  embarkation  of  the 
troops.  The  Frenchman,  glad  to  find  himself  alone  in 
the  church,  took  pains  to  make  the  clink  of  Ms  spurs 
resound  through  the  vaulted  roof  ;  he  walked  noisily, 
and  coughed,  and  spoke  aloud  to  himself,  hoping  to 
inform  the  nuns,  but  especially  the  Sister  at  the  organ, 
that  if  the  French  soldiers  were  departing,  one  at  least 
remained  behind.  "Was  this  singular  method  of  com- 
munication heard  and  understood?  The  general  be- 
lieved it  was.  In  the  Magnificat  the  organ  seemed  to 
give  an  answer  which  came  to  him  in  the  vibrations  of 
the  air.  The  soul  of  the  nun  floated  towards  him  on 
the  wings  of  the  notes  she  touched,  quivering  with  the 
movements  of  the  sound.  The  music  burst  forth  with 
power  ;  it  glorified  the  church.  This  hymn  of  joy,  con- 
secrated by  the  sublime  liturgy  of  Eoman  Christianity 
to  the  uplifting  of  the  soul  in  presence  of  the  splendors 
of  the  ever-living  God,  became  the  utterance  of  a  heart 
terrified  at  its  own  happiness  in  presence  of  the  splen- 
dors of  a  perishable  love,  which  still  lived,  and  came  to 
move  it  once  more  beyond  the  tomb  where  this  woman 
had  buried  herself,  to  rise  again  the  bride  of  Christ. 


382 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


The  organ  is  be}rond  all  question  the  finest,  the 
most  daring,  the  most  magnificent  of  the  instruments 
created  by  human  genius.  It  is  an  orchestra  in  itself, 
from  which  a  practised  hand  may  demand  all  things  ; 
for  it  expresses  all  things.  Is  it  not,  as  it  were,  a  coign 
of  vantage,  where  the  soul  may  poise  itself  ere  it 
springs  into  space,  bearing,  as  it  flies,  the  listening 
mind  through  a  thousand  scenes  of  life  towards  the 
infinite  which  parts  earth  from  heaven?  The  longer 
a  poet  listens  to  its  gigantic  harmonies,  the  more  fully 
will  he  comprehend  that  between  kneeling  humanity 
and  the  God  hidden  by  the  dazzling  ra}'s  of  the  Holy  of 
Holies,  the  hundred  voices  of  terrestrial  choirs  can 
alone  bridge  the  vast  distance  and  interpret  to  Heaven 
the  prayers  of  men  in  all  the  omnipotence  of  their 
desires,  in  the  diversities  of  their  woe,  with  the  tints  of 
their  meditations  and  their  ecstasies,  with  the  impetu- 
ous spring  of  their  repentance,  and  the  thousand  imagi- 
nations of  their  manifold  beliefs.  Yes  !  beneath  these 
soaring  vaults  the  harmonies  born  of  the  genius  of 
sacred  things  find  a  yet  unheard-of  grandeur,  which 
adorns  and  strengthens  them.  Here  the  dim  light,  the 
deep  silence,  the  voices  alternating  with  the  solemn 
tones  of  the  organ,  seem  like  a  veil  through  which  the 
luminous  attributes  of  God  himself  pierce  and  radiate. 

Yet  all  these  sacred  riches  now  seemed  flung  like  a 
grain  of  incense  on  the  frail  altar  of  an  earthly  love, 
in  presence  of  the  eternal  throne  of  a  jealous  and 
avenging  Deity.  The  joy  of  the  nun  had  not  the 
gravhy  which  properly  belongs  to  the  solemnity  of  the 
Magnificat.  She  gave  to  the  music  rich  and  graceful 
modulations,  whose  rhythms  breathed  of  human  gayety  i 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


383 


lier  measures  ran  into  the  brilliant  cadences  of  a  great 
singer  striving  to  express  her  love,  and  the  notes  rose 
buoyantly  like  the  carol  of  a  bird  by  the  side  of  its 
mate.  At  moments  she  darted  back  into  the  past,  as 
if  to  sport  there  or  to  weep  there  for  an  instant.  Her 
changing  moods  had  something  discomposed  about 
them,  like  the  agitations  of  a  happy  woman  rejoicing  at 
the  return  of  her  lover.  Then,  as  these  supple  strains 
of  passionate  emotion  ceased,  the  soul  that  spoke 
returned  upon  itself;  the  musician  passed  from  the  ma- 
jor to  the  minor  key,  and  told  her  hearer  the  story  of 
her  present.  She  revealed  to  him  her  long  melancholy, 
the  slow  malad}*  of  her  moral  being,  —  eve^  da}T  a 
feeling  crushed,  every  night  a  thought  subdued,  hour 
by  hour  a  heart  burning  down  to  ashes.  After  soft 
modulations  the  music  took  on  slowly,  tint  by  tint,  the 
hue  of  deepest  sadness.  Soon  it  poured  forth  in  echo- 
ing torrents  the  well-springs  of  grief,  till  suddenly  the 
higher  notes  struck  clear  like  the  voice  of  angels,  as  if 
to  tell  to  her  lost  love  —  lost,  but  not  forgotten  —  that 
the  reunion  of  their  souls  must  be  in  heaven,  and  only 
there  :  hope  most  precious  !  Then  came  the  Amen.  In 
that  no  jo}*,  no  tears,  nor  sadness,  nor  regrets,  but  a 
return  to  God.  The  last  chord  that  sounded  was  grave, 
solemn,  terrible.  The  musician  revealed  the  nun  in 
the  garb  of  her  vocation  ;  and  as  the  thunder  of  the 
basses  rolled  away,  causing  the  hearer  to  shudder 
through  his  whole  being,  she  seemed  to  sink  into  the 
tomb  from  which  for  a  brief  moment  she  had  risen. 
As  the  echoes  slowly  ceased  to  vibrate  along  the  vaulted 
roofs,  the  church,  made  luminous  by  the  music,  fell 
suddenly  into  profound  obscurity. 


384  The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


The  general,  carried  away  by  the  course  of  this 
powerful  genius,  had  followed  her,  step  b}-  step,  aloug 
her  way.  He  comprehended  in  their  fall  meaning  the 
pictures  that  gleamed  through  that  burning  symphony  ; 
for  him  those,  chords  told  all.  For  him,  as  for  the 
Sister,  this  poem  of  sound  was  the  future,  the  past,  the 
present.  Music,  even  the  music  of  an  opera,  is  it  not 
to  tender  and  poetic  souls,  to  wounded  and  suffering 
hearts,  a  text  which  they  interpret  as  their  memories 
need  ?  If  the  heart  of  a  poet  must  be  given  to  a  musi- 
cian, must  not  poetr}T  and  love  be  listeners  ere  the 
great  musical  works  of  art  are  understood  ?  Religion, 
love,  and  music  :  are  the}'  not  the  triple  expression  of 
one  fact,  —  the  need  of  expansion,  the  need  of  touch- 
ing with  their  own  infinite  the  infinite  beyond  them, 
which  is  in  the  fibre  of  all  noble  souls?  These  three 
forms  of  poesy  end  in  God,  who  alone  can  unwind  the 
knot  of  earthhT  emotion.  Thus  this  holy  human  trinity 
joins  itself  to  the  holiness  of  God,  of  whom  we  make  to 
ourselves  no  conception  unless  we  surround  him  by  the 
fires  of  love  and  the  golden  cymbals  of  music  and  light 
and  harmony. 

The  French  general  divined  that  on  this  desert  rock, 
surrounded  by  the  surging  seas,  the  nun  had  cherished 
music  to  free  her  soul  of  the  excess  of  passion  that  con- 
sumed it.  Did  she  offer  her  love  as  a  homage  to  God? 
Did  the  love  triumph  over  the  vows  she  had  made  to 
him?  Questions  difficult  to  answer.  But,  beyond  all 
doubt,  the  lover  had  found  in  a  heart  dead  to  the  world  a 
love  as  passionate  as  that  which  burned  within  his  own. 

When  vespers  ended  he  returned  to  the  alcalde's 
house  where  he  was  quartered.    Giving  himself  over,  a 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais.  385 

willing  pre}',  to  the  delights  of  a  success  long  expected, 
laboriously  sought,  his  mind  at  first  could  dwell  on 
nothing  else,  —  he  was  still  loved.  Solitude  had  nour- 
ished the  love  of  that  heart,  just  as  his  own  had  thriven 
on  the  barriers,  successively  surmounted,  which  this 
woman  had  placed  between  herself  and  him.  This  ec- 
stasy of  the  spirit  had  its  natural  duration  ;  then  came 
the  desire  to  see  this  woman,  to  withdraw  her  from  God, 
to  win  her  back  to  himself,  —  a  bold  project,  welcome  to 
a  bold  man.  After  the  evening  repast,  he  retired  to  his 
room  to  escape  questions  and  think  in  peace,  and  re- 
mained plunged  in  deep  meditation  throughout  the  night. 
He  rose  early  and  went  to  Mass.  He  placed  himself  close 
to  the  latticed  screen,  his  brow  touching  the  brown  cur- 
tain. He  longed  to  rend  it  away  ;  but  he  was  not  alone, 
his  host  had  accompanied  him,  and  the  least  imprudence 
might  compromise  the  future  of  his  love  and  ruin  his 
new-found  hopes.  The  organ  was  played,  but  not  by 
the  same  hand  ;  the  musician  of  the  last  two  da}Ts  was 
absent  from  its  key -board.  All  was  chill  and  pale  to 
the  general.  "Was  his  mistress  worn  out  by  the  emo- 
tions which  had  welmigh  broken  down  his  own  vigorous 
heart?  Had  she  so  truly  shared  and  comprehended  his 
faithful  and  eager  love  that  she  now  lay  exhausted  and 
dying  in  her  cell?  At  the  moment  when  such  thoughts 
as  these  rose  in  the  general's  mind,  he  heard  beside 
him  the  voice  beloved  ;  he  knew  the  clear  ring  of  its 
tones.  The  voice,  slightly  changed  by  a  tremor  which 
gave  it  the  timid  grace  and  modesty  of  a  young  girl, 
detached  itself  from  the  volume  of  song,  like  the  voice 
of  a  prima-donna  in  the  harmonies  of  her  final  notes. 
It  gave  to  the  ear  an  impression  like  the  effect  to  the 

25 


336 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


eye  of  a  fillet  of  silver  or  gold  threading  a  dark  frieze. 
It  was  indeed  she  !  Still  Parisian,  she  had  not  lost 
her  gracious  charm,  though  she  had  forsaken  the 
coronet  and  adornments  of  the  world  for  the  frontlet 
and  serge  of  a  Carmelite.  Having  revealed  her  love 
the  night  before  in  the  praises  addressed  to  the  Lord 
of  all,  she  seemed  now  to  say  to  her  lover:  "Yes,  it 
is  I  :  I  am  here.  I  love  forever  ;  yet  I  am  aloof  from 
love.  Thou  shalt  hear  me  :  my  soul  shall  enfold  thee  ; 
but  I  must  stay  beneath  the  brown  shroud  of  this 
choir,  from  which  no  power  can  tear  me.  Thou  canst 
not  see  me." 

"It  is  she!"  whispered  the  general  to  himself,  as 
he  raised  his  head  and  withdrew  his  hands  from  his 
face  ;  for  he  had  not  been  able  to  bear  erect  the  storm 
of  feeling  that  shook  his  heart  as  the  voice  vibrated 
through  the  arches  and  blended  with  the  murmur  of  the 
waves.  A  storm  raged  without,  yet  peace  was  within 
the  sanctuanr.  The  rich  voice  still  caressed  the  ear, 
and  fell  like  balm  upon  the  parched  heart  of  the  lover  ; 
it  flowered  in  the  air  about  him,  from  which  he  breathed 
the  emanations  of  her  spirit  exhaling  love  through  the 
aspirations  of  its  prayer. 

The  alcalde  came  to  rejoin  his  guest,  and  found  him 
bathed  in  tears  at  the  elevation  of  the  Host  which  was 
chanted  b}T  the  nun.  Surprised  to  find  such  devotion 
in  a  French  officer,  he  invited  the  confessor  of  the  con- 
vent to  join  them  at  supper,  and  informed  the  general, 
to  whom  no  news  had  ever  given  such  pleasure,  of  what 
he  had  done.  During  the  supper  the  general  made 
the  confessor  the  object  of  much  attention,  and  thus 
confirmed  the  Spaniards  in  the  high  opinion  they  had 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


337 


formed  of  his  piety.  He  inquired  with  grave  interest 
the  number  of  the  nuns,  and  asked  details  about  the 
revenues  of  the  convent  and  its  wealth,  with  the  air  of 
a  man  who  politely  wished  to  choose  topics  which  occu- 
pied the  mind  of  the  good  old  priest.  Then  he  inquired 
about  the  life  led  by  the  sisters.  Could  they  go  out  ? 
Could  they  see  friends? 

"  Senhor,"  said  the  venerable  priest,  "the  rule  is 
severe.  If  the  permission  of  our  Holy  Father  must  be 
obtained  before  a  woman  can  enter  a  house  of  Saint 
Bruno,1  the  like  rule  exists  here.  It  is  impossible  for 
an}*  man  to  enter  a  convent  of  the  Bare-footed  Carme- 
lites, unless  he  is  a  priest  delegated  by  the  archbishop 
for  dut}'  in  the  House.  No  nun  can  go  out.  It  is  true, 
however,  that  the  Great  Saint,  Mother  Theresa,  did 
frequently  leave  her  cell.  A  Mother-superior  can  alone, 
under  authority  of  the  archbishop,  permit  a  nun  to  see 
her  friends,  especially  in  case  of  illness.  As  this  con- 
vent is  one  of  the  chief  Houses  of  the  Order,  it  has  a 
Mother-superior  residing  in  it.  We  have  several  for- 
eigners, —  among  them  a  Frenchwoman,  Sister  Theresa, 
the  one  who  directs  the  music  in  the  chapel." 

"Ah!"  said  the  general,  feigning  surprise.  "She 
must  have  been  gratified  by  the  triumph  of  the  House 
of  Bourbon?" 

"I  told  them  the  object  of  the  Mass  ;  they  are  always 
rather  curious." 

"Perhaps  Sister  Theresa  has  some  interests  in  France  ; 
she  might  be  glad  to  receive  some  news,  or  ask  some 
questions  ?  " 

"  I  think  not  ;  or  she  would  have  spoken  to  me." 
1  Founder  of  the  Order  of  the  Chartreux. 


388 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


"As  a  compatriot,"  said  the  general,  "I  should 
be  curious  to  see  —  that  is,  if  it  were  possible,  if  the 
superior  would  consent,  if — 

"At  the  grating,  even  in  the  presence  of  the  reverend 
Mother,  an  interview  would  be  absolutely  impossible  for 
any  ordinary  man,  no  matter  who  he  was  ;  but  in  favor 
of  a  liberator  of  a  Catholic  throne  and  our  holy  reli- 
gion, possibly,  in  spite  of  the  rigid  riile  of  our  Mother 
Theresa,  the  rule  might  be  relaxed,"  said  the  confessor. 
"  I  will  speak  about  it." 

"  How  old  is  Sister  Theresa?"  asked  the  lover,  who 
dared  not  question  the  priest  about  the  beauty  of  the 
nun. 

"  She  is  no  longer  of  any  age,"  said  the  good  old  man, 
with  a  simplicity  which  made  the  general  shudder. 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais, 


389 


m. 

The  next  day,  before  the  siesta,  the  confessor  came 
to  tell  the  general  that  Sister  Theresa  and  the  Mother- 
superior  consented  to  receive  him  at  the  grating  that 
evening  before  the  hour  of  vespers.  After  the  siesta, 
during  which  the  Frenchman  had  whiled  away  the  time 
by  walking  round  the  port  in  the  fierce  heat  of  the  sun, 
the  priest  came  to  show  him  the  way  into  the  convent. 

He  was  guided  through  a  gallery  which  ran  the  length 
of  the  cemetery,  where  fountains  and  trees  and  numer- 
ous arcades  gave  a  cool  freshness  in  keeping  with  that 
still  and  silent  spot.  When  they  reached  the  end  of 
this  long  gallery,  the  priest  led  his  companion  into  a 
parlor,  divided  in  the  middle  by  a  grating  covered  with 
a  brown  curtain.  On  the  side  which  we  must  call 
public,  and  where  the  confessor  left  the  general,  there 
was  a  wooden  bench  along  one  side  of  the  wall  ;  some 
chairs,  also  of  wood,  were  near  the  grating.  The  ceil- 
ing was  of  wood,  crossed  by  heavy  beams  of  the  ever- 
green oak,  without  ornament.  Daylight  came  from  two 
windows  in  the  division  set  apart  for  the  nuns,  and  was 
absorbed  by  the  brown  tones  of  the  room  ;  so  that  it 
barely  showed  the  picture  of  the  great  black  Christ, 
and  those  of  Saint  Theresa  and  the  Blessed  Virgin, 
which  hung  on  the  dark  panels  of  the  walls. 

The  feelings  of  the  general  turned,  in  spite  of  their 
violence,  to  a  tone  of  melancholy.    He  grew  calm  in 


390 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


these  calm  precincts.  Something  mighty  as  the  grave 
seized  him  beneath  these  chilling  rafters.  Was  it  not 
the  eternal  silence,  the  deep  peace,  the  near  presence 
of  the  infinite?  Through  the  stillness  came  the  fixed 
thought  of  the  cloister,  —  that  thought  which  glides 
through  the  air  in  the  half-lights,  and  is  in  all  things,  — 
the  thought  unchangeable  ;  nowhere  seen,  which  }ret 
grows  vast  to  the  imagination  ;  the  all-comprising  word, 
the  peace  of  God.  It  enters  there,  with  living  power, 
into  the  least  religious  heart.  Convents  of  men  are  not 
easily  conceivable  ;  man  seems  feeble  and  unmanly  in 
them.  He  is  born  to  act,  to  fulfil  a  life  of  toil  ;  and 
he  escapes  it  in  his  cell.  But  in  a  monastery  of  women 
what  strength  to  endure,  and  yet  what  touching  weak- 
ness !  A  man  may  be  pushed  by  a  thousand  sentiments 
into  the  depths  of  an  abbey  ;  he  flings  himself  into  them 
as  from  a  precipice.  But  the  woman  is  drawn  only  by 
one  feeling  ;  she  does  not  unsex  herself,  —  she  espouses 
holiness.  You  may  say  to  the  man,  Why  did  you  not 
struggle  ?  but  to  the  cloistered  woman  life  is  a  struggle 
still. 

The  general  found  in  this  mute  parlor  of  the  sea- 
girt convent  memories  of  himself.  Love  seldom  reaches 
upward  to  solemnit}r  ;  but  love  in  the  bosom  of  God, 
—  is  there  nothing  solemn  there?  Yes,  more  than  a 
man  has  the  right  to  hope  for  in  this  nineteenth  cen- 
tum, with  our  manners  and  our  customs  what  they  are. 
The  general's  soul  was  one  on  which  such  impressions 
act.  His  nature  was  noble  enough  to  forget  self-inter- 
est, honors,  Spain,  the  world,  or  Paris,  and  rise  to  the 
heights  of  feeling  roused  by  this  unspeakable  termina- 
tion of  his  long  pursuit.    What  could  be  more  tragic? 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


391 


How  man}*  emotions  held  these  lovers,  reunited  at  last 
on  this  granite  ledge  far  out  at  sea,  yet  separated  by 
an  idea,  an  impassable  barrier.  Look  at  this  man, 
saying  to  himself,  "Can  I  triumph  over  God  in  that 
heart?" 

A  slight  noise  made  him  quiver.  The  brown  curtain 
was  drawn  back  ;  he  saw  in  the  half-light  a  woman 
standing,  but  her  face  was  hidden  from  him  by  the 
projection  of  a  veil,  which  lay  in  many  folds  upon  her 
head.  According  to  the  rule  of  the  Order  she  was 
clothed  in  the  brown  garb  whose  color  has  become  pro- 
verbial. The  general  could  not  see  the  naked  feet, 
which  would  have  told  him  the  frightful  emaciation  of 
her  body  ;  yet  through  the  thick  folds  of  the  coarse 
robe  that  swathed  her  his  heart  divined  that  tears 
and  prayers  and  passion  and  solitude  had  wasted  her 
away. 

The  chill  hand  of  a  woman,  doubtless  the  Mother- 
superior,  held  back  the  curtain,  and  the  general,  exam- 
ining this  unwelcome  witness  of  the  interview,  encoun- 
tered the  deep  grave  eyes  of  an  old  nun,  very  aged, 
whose  clear,  even  youthful,  glance  belied  the  wrinkles 
that  furrowed  her  pale  face. 

"  Madame  la  duchesse,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  shaken  by 
emotion,  to  the  Sister,  who  bowed  her  head,  "  does  }Tour 
companion  understand  French  ?  " 

"■There  is  no  duchess  here,"  replied  the  nun.  "You 
are  in  presence  of  Sister  Theresa.  The  woman  whom 
3*ou  call  my  companion  is  my  Mother  in  God,  my  supe- 
rior here  below." 

These  words  humbly  uttered  by  a  voice  that  once 
harmonized  with  the  luxury  and  elegance  in  which  this 


392 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais, 


woman  had  lived  queen  of  the  world  of  Paris,  that  fell 
from  lips  whose  language  had  been  of  old  so  gay,  so 
mocking,  struck  the  general  as  if  with  an  electric  shock. 

"  My  holy  Mother  speaks  only  Latin  and  Spanish," 
she  added. 

"I  understand  neither.  Dear  Antoinette,  make  her 
my  excuses." 

As  she  heard  her  name  softly  uttered  by  a  man  once 
so  hard  to  her,  the  nun  was  shaken  by  emotion,  be- 
trayed only  by  the  light  quivering  of  her  veil,  on  which 
the  light  now  fully  fell. 

"  My  brother,"  she  said,  passing  her  sleeve  beneath 
her.  veil,  perhaps  to  wipe  her  eyes,  "  my  name  is  Sister 
Theresa." 

Then  she  turned  to  the  Mother,  and  said  to  her  in 
Spanish  a  few  words  which  the  general  plainly  heard. 
He  knew  enough  of  the  language  to  understand  it,  per- 
haps to  speak  it.  "  My  dear  Mother,  this  gentleman 
presents  to  you  his  respects,  and  begs  you  to  excuse 
him  for  not  laying  them  himself  at  your  feet;  but  he 
knows  neither  of  the  languages  which  you  speak." 

The  old  woman  slowly  bowed  her  head  ;  her  counte- 
nance took  an  expression  of  angelic  sweetness,  tem- 
pered, nevertheless,  by  the  consciousness  of  her  power 
and  dignity. 

"  You  know  this  gentleman?  "  she  asked,  with  a  pierc- 
ing glance  at  the  Sister. 
"Yes,  my  Mother." 

"  Retire  to  your  cell,  my  daughter,"  said  the  Superior 
in  a  tone  of  authority. 

The  general  hastily  withdrew  to  the  shelter  of  the 
curtain,  lest  his  face  should  betray  the  anguish  these 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais,  393 


words  cost  him  ;  but  he  fancied  that  the  penetrating 
eyes  of  the  Superior  followed  him  even  into  the  shadow. 
This  woman,  arbiter  of  the  frail  and  fleeting  joy  he 
had  won  at  such  cost,  made  him  afraid  :  he  trembled, 
he  whom  a  triple  range  of  cannon  could  not  shake. 

The  duchess  walked  to  the  door,  but  there  she  turned  : 
44  My  Mother,"  she  said,  in  a  voice  horribly  calm,  "  this 
Frenchman  is  one  of  my  brothers." 

"  Remain,  therefore,  my  daughter,"  said  the  old  wo- 
man, after  a  pause. 

The  jesuitism  of  this  answer  revealed  such  love  and 
such  regret,  that  a  man  of  less  firmness  than  the  general 
would  have  betrayed  his  joy  in  the  midst  of  a  peril  so 
novel  to  him.  But  what  value  could  there  be  in  the 
words,  looks,  gestures  of  a  love  that  must  be  hidden 
from  the  eyes  of  a  lynx,  the  claws  of  a  tiger?  The  Sis- 
ter came  back. 

"  You  see,  my  brother,"  she  said,  "  what  I  have  dared 
to  do  that  I  might  for  one  moment  speak  to  you  of  your 
salvation,  and  tell  you  of  the  pra}Ters  which  daj-  by  day 
my  soul  offers  to  heaven  on  your  behalf.  I  have  com- 
mitted a  mortal  sin, — I  have  lied.  How  manjT  days 
of  penitence  to  wash  out  that  lie  !  But  I  shall  suffer 
for  you.  You  know  not,  my  brother,  the  joy  of  loving 
in  heaven,  of  daring  to  avow  affections  that  religion  has 
purified,  that  have  risen  to  the  highest  regions,  that  at 
last  we  know  and  feel  with  the  soul  alone.  If  the  doc- 
trines —  if  the  spirit  of  the  saint  to  whom  we  owe  this 
refuge  had  not  lifted  me  above  the  anguish  of  earth  to 
a  world,  not  indeed  where  she  is,  but  far  above  my 
lower  life,  I  could  not  have  seen  you  now.  But  I  can 
see  you,  I  can  hear  you,  and  remain  calm." 


394  The  Duchesse  de  Langeais, 


"  Antoinette,"  said  the  general,  interrupting  these 
words,  "suffer  me  to  see  you  —  you,  whom  I  love 
passionately,  to  madness,  as  you  once  would  have  had 
me  love  you." 

44  Do  not  call  me  Antoinette,  I  implore  you  :  mem- 
ories of  the  past  do  me  harm.  See  in  me  only  the 
Sister  Theresa,  a  creature  trusting  all  to  the  divine  pity. 
And,"  she  added,  after  a  pause,  44  subdue  yourself,  my 
brother.  Our  Mother  would  separate  us  instantly  if 
your  face  betrayed  earthly  passions,  or  your  eyes  shed 
tears." 

The  general  bowed  his  head,  as  if  to  collect  himself  ; 
when  he  again  lifted  his  eyes  to  the  grating  he  saw 
between  two  bars  the  pale,  emaciated,  but  still  ardent 
face  of  the  nun.  Her  complexion,  where  once  had 
bloomed  the  loveliness  of  youth, — where  once  there 
shone  the  happy  contrast  of  a  pure,  clear  whiteness 
with  the  colors  of  a  Bengal  rose,  —  now  had  the  tints 
of  a  porcelain  cup  through  which  a  feeble  light  showed 
faintly.  The  beautiful  hair  of  which  this  woman  was 
once  so  proud  was  shaven  ;  a  white  band  bound  her 
brows  and  was  wrapped  around  her  face.  Her  eyes,- 
circled  with  dark  shadows  due  to  the  austerities  of  her 
life,  glanced  at  moments  with  a  feverish  light,  of  which 
their  habitual  calm  was  but  the  mask.  In  a  word,  of 
this  woman  nothing  remained  but  her  soul. 

44  Ah!  you  will  leave  this  tomb  —  you,  who  are  my 
life  !  You  belonged  to  me  ;  you  were  not  free  to  give 
yourself —  not  even  to  God.  Did  you  not  promise  to 
sacrifice  all  to  the  least  of  my  commands?  Will  you 
now  think  me  worthy  to  claim  that  promise,  if  I  tell 
you  what  I  have  done  for  your  sake  ?    I  have  sought 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais»  395 


you  through  the  whole  world.  For  five  years  you  have 
been  the  thought  of  every  instant,  the  occupation  of 
every  hour,  of  my  life.  My  friends  —  friends  all-power- 
ful as  you  know  —  have  helped  me  to  search  the  con- 
vent of  France,  Spain,  Italy,  Sicily,  America.  My  love 
has  deepened  with  every  fruitless  search.  Many  a 
loug  journey  I  have  taken  on  a  false  hope.  I  have 
spent  my  life  and  the  strong  beatings  of  my  heart 
about  the  walls  of  cloisters.  I  will  not  speak  to  you 
of  a  fidelity  unlimited.  What  is  it?  —  nothing  com- 
pared to  the  infinitude  of  my  love  Î  If  in  other  days 
your  remorse  was  real,  you  cannot  hesitate  to  follow 
me  now." 

"  You  forget  that  I  am  not  free." 

"  The  duke  is  dead,"  he  said  hastily. 

Sister  Theresa  colored.  '  '  May  Heaven  receive  him  !  " 
she  said,  with  quick  emotion:  "he  was  generous  to 
me.  But  I  did  not  speak  of  those  ties  :  one  of  my 
faults  was  my  willingness  to  break  them  without  scruple 
for  you." 

"  You  speak  of  your  vows,"  cried  the  general,  frown- 
ing. "I  little  thought  that  anything  would  weigh  in 
your  heart  against  our  love.  But  do  not  fear,  An- 
toinette ;  I  will  obtain  a  brief  from  the  Holy  Father 
which  will  absolve  your  vows.  I  will  go  to  Rome  ; 
I  will  petition  every  earthly  power  ;  if  God  himself 
came  down  from  heaven  I  —  " 

"  Do  not  blaspheme  !  " 

*'  Do  not  fear  how  God  would  see  it  !  Ah  !  I  wish 
I  were  as  sure  that  you  will  leave  these  walls  with  me  ; 
that  to-night  —  to-night,  you  would  embark  at  the  feet 
of  these  rocks.    Let  us  go  to  find  happiness  !    I  know 


396 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


not  where  —  at  the  ends  of  the  earth  !  With  me  you 
will  come  back  to  life,  to  health  —  in  the  shelter  of 
my  love  !  " 

44  Do  not  sa}r  these  things,"  replied  the  Sister  ;  "  you 
do  not  know  what  you  now  are  to  me.  I  love  you 
better  than  I  once  loved  you.  I  pray  to  God  for 
you  daily.  I  see  you  no  longer  with  the  eyes  of  my 
body.  If  you  but  knew,  Armand,  the  joy  of  being  able, 
without  shame,  to  spend  myself  upon  a  pure  love  which 
God  protects  !  You  do  not  know  the  joy  I  have  in 
calling  down  the  blessings  of  heaven  upon  your  head. 
I  never  pray  for  myself:  God  will  do  with  me  accord- 
ing to  his  will.  But  you  —  at  the  price  of  nry  eternity 
I  would  win  the  assurance  that  you  are  happj'  in  this 
world,  that  you  will  be  bapp}-  in  another  throughout 
the  ages.  My  life  eternal  is  all  that  misfortunes  have 
left  me  to  give  you.  I  have  grown  old  in  grief;  I 
am  no  longer  young  or  beautiful.  Ah  !  you  would 
despise  a  nun  who  returned  to  be  a  woman  ;  no  sen- 
timent, not  even  maternal  love,  could  absolve  her. 
What  could  3'ou  say  to  me  that  would  shake  the  un- 
numbered reflections  my  heart  has  made  in  five  long 
years,  — and  which  have  changed  it,  hollowed  it,  with- 
ered it  ?  Ah  !  I  should  have  given  something  less  sad 
to  God  ! 

"What  can  I  sa}r  to  you,  dear  Antoinette?  I  will 
say  that  I  love  you  ;  that  affection,  love,  true  love,  the 
joy  of  living  in  a  heart  all  ours,  —  wholly  ours,  with- 
out one  reservation, — is  so  rare,  so  difficult  to  find, 
that  I  once  doubted  }'ou  ;  I  put  }  ou  to  cruel  tests. 
But  to-cla}'  I  love  and  trust  you  with  all  the  powers 
of  my  soul.    If  you  will  follow  me  I  will  listen  through' 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais, 


397 


out  life  to  no  voice  but  thine.  I  will  look  on  no 
face  —  " 

"Silence,  Armand!  you  shorten  the  sole  moments 
which  are  given  to  us  to  see  each  other  here  below." 

"Antoinette  !  will  you  follow  me?" 

"  I  never  leave  you.  I  live  in  your  heart  —  but  with 
another  power  than  that  of  earthly  pleasure,  or  vanity, 
or  selfish  joy.  I  live  here  for  you,  pale  and  faded,  in 
the  bosom  of  God.    If  God  is  just,  yow  will  be  happy." 

'  '  Phrases  !  you  give  me  phrases  !  But  if  I  will  to 
have  you  pale  and  faded,  — if  I  cannot  be  happy  unless 
you  are  with  me?  "What  !  will  you  forever  place  duties 
before  my  love?  Shall  I  never  be  above  all  things 
else  in  your  heart?  In  the  past  you  put  the  world,  or 
self — I  know  not  what  —  above  me  ;  to-day  it  is  God, 
it  is  my  salvation.  In  this  Sister  Theresa  I  recognize 
the  duchess  ;  ignorant  of  the  joys  of  love,  unfeeling 
beneath  a  pretence  of  tenderness  !  You  do  not  love 
me  !  you  never  loved  me  !  —  " 

"  Oh,  my  brother!—" 

"You  will  not  leave  this  tomb.  You  love  my  soul, 
you  say  :  well  !  you  shall  destroy  it  forever  and  ever. 
I  will  kill  nryself  —  " 

"  My  Mother  !  "  cried  the  nun,  "I  have  lied  to  you  : 
this  man  is  nry  lover." 

The  curtain  fell.  The  general,  stunned,  heard  the 
doors  close  with  violence. 

"She  loves  me  still!"  he  cried,  comprehending  all 
that  was  revealed  in  the  cry  of  the  nun.  "I  will  find 
means  to  carry  her  awa}~  !  " 

He  left  the  island  immediately,  and  returned  to  the 
headquarters  of  the  army  on  the  peninsula.    There  he 


398 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


pleaded  continued  illness,  and  obtained  leave  of  ab- 
sence to  return  to  France. 

The  following  circumstances  will  explain  the  situation 
in  which  we  found  the  persons  whose  history  we  are 
relating. 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais.  399 


IV. 

That  which  is  called  in  France  the  Faubourg  Saint- 
Germain  is  not  a  quarter  of  Paris,  nor  a  sect,  nor  an 
institution,  nor  iudeed  anything  that  can  be  definitely 
expressed.  The  Place  Royale,  the  Faubourg  Saint- 
Honoré,  the  Chaussée  d'Antin,  all  contain  mansions 
where  the  atmosphere  of  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain 
reigns.  Thus  the  whole  of  the  faubourg  is  not  in  the 
faubourg.  Persons  born  far  from  its  influence  feel  it, 
and  affiliate  themselves  with  its  spirit  ;  while  others, 
born  in  its  purple,  are  by  nature  banished  from  it. 
The  manners,  the  forms  of  speech,  in  a  word  the  tra- 
ditions of  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain  have  been  to 
Paris  for  the  last  forty  years  what  the  Court  was  to 
it  in  former  days  ;  what  the  Hôtel  Saint-Paul  was  in 
the  fourteenth  century,  the  Louvre  in  the  fifteenth,  the 
Palais,  the  Hôtel  Rambouillet,  and  the  Place  Roj-ale  in 
the  sixteenth,  and,  finally,  Versailles  in  the  seventeenth 
and  eighteenth  centuries. 

Through  all  phases  of  history  the  Paris  of  the  upper 
classes  and  the  nobility  has  had  its  centre, — just  as 
the  Paris  of  the  people  has  had,  and  always  will  have, 
a  quarter  of  its  own.  This  singular  and  recurring  sepa- 
ration affords  matter  of  reflection  for  those  who  seek 
to  observe  or  to  paint  the  various  social  strata  ;  and 
perhaps  we  may  be  allowed  to  search  out  its  causes, 
not  only  to  explain  the  characters  of  our  story,  but  to 


400 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


subserve  important  interests, — more  important  to  the 
future  than  to  the  present,  unless,  indeed,  the  teach- 
ings of  experience  seem  as  foolish  to  political  parties 
as  they  are  to  3~outh. 

The  great  lords,  and  the  men  of  wealth  who  imitate 
the  lords,  have  at  all  epochs  withdrawn  their  homes 
from  crowded  precincts.  The  Duc  d'Uzès  built  dur- 
ing the  reign  of  Louis  XIV.,  in  a  corner  of  Paris  then  a 
solitude,  the  noble  hôtel  at  whose  gates  he  placed  the 
fountain  of  the  Rue  Montmartre, — a  beneficent  act  which, 
in  addition  to  his  many  virtues,  made  him  an  object  of 
such  popular  veneration  that  all  the  people  of  the  quar- 
ter followed  him  to  his  grave.  But  no  sooner  were  the 
fortifications  levelled,  than  the  waste  ground  bejoud 
the  boulevard  was  covered  with  houses,  and  the  d'Uzès 
family  abandoned  their  mansion,  which  is  now  occupied 
b}*  a  banker.  Not  long  after  this  the  nobility,  ham- 
pered by  the  invasion  of  shops,  abandoned  the  Place 
Royale  and  the  neighborhood  of  the  bus}r  Parisian 
centres,  to  cross  the  river  and  breathe  at  its  ease  in  the 
Faubourg  Saint-Germain,  where  palaces  had  already 
risen  round  the  mansion  built  by  Louis  XIV.  for  the 
Duc  de  Maine,  the  Benjamin  of  his  legitimatized  sons. 

To  persons  accustomed  to  the  elegancies  of  life  there 
is  little  that  is  more  offensive  than  the  tumult,  cries, 
mud,  ill-savor,  and  close  quarters  of  the  populous  streets 
of  a  city.  The  habits  of  a  shop-keeping  or  manufactur- 
ing quarter  are  in  constant  collision  with  the  habits  of 
the  great  world.  Commerce  and  labor  are  going  to 
bed  just  as  aristocracy  is  going  to  dinner  :  the  one  is 
in  nois}'  activity  when  the  other  is  in  need  of  repose. 
Their  estimates  are  on  differing  scales  ;  that  of  the  on© 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais,  401 

is  all  gain  ;  that  of  the  other,  lavish  expenditure.  Thus 
their  manners  and  customs  are  diametrically  opposed. 
This  is  said  with  no  disdainful  meaning.  An  aristoc- 
racy is,  in  a  way,  the  thought  of  a  society,  as  the 
middle-class  and  the  working-class  are  its  organism 
and  its  action.  From  this  comes  the  need  of  differ- 
ent sites  and  locations  for  their  differing  forces  ;  and 
out  of  this  antagonism  grows  an  apparent  antipathy 
which  leads  to  complicated  activities, — all  working,  how- 
ever, to  a  common  end.  These  social  oppositions  are 
the  logical  result  of  constitutional  codes  ;  and  people  of 
all  classes  would  think  it  prodigiously  absurd  if  the 
Prince  de  Montmorency  chose  to  live  in  the  Rue  Saint- 
Martin  at  the  corner  of  the  street  which  bears  his 
name,  or  if  the  Duc  de  Fitz-James,  descendant  of  the 
royal  Scottish  race,  had  his  hôtel  in  the  Rue  Marie- 
Stuart  near  the  Rue  Montorgueil.  Sint  ut  sint,  aut 
non  sint,  —  this  fine  pontifical  saying  might  serve  as  a 
motto  for  the  great  world  of  every  nation.  The  fact, 
belonging  to  all  epochs  and  accepted  always  by  the 
people,  bears  within  it  reasons  of  state  ;  it  is  at  one 
and  the  same  time  an  effect  and  a  cause,  a  principle 
and  a  law.  The  masses  have  a  sound  common-sense 
which  never  weakens  unless  evil-disposed  men  excite 
their  passions.  This  common-sense  rests  on  the  essen- 
tial need  of  a  common  order,  —  as  truly  felt  at  Moscow 
as  in  London,  in  Geneva  as  in  Calcutta.  Hence, 
wherever  you  assemble  families  of  unequal  fortunes 
within  a  given  space  you  will  see  them  breaking  up  into 
circles  of  first  and  second  and  third  classes.  Equality 
may  be  a  right,  but  no  human  power  can  convert  it  into 
a  fact. 


402 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


It  would  be  well  for  the  happiness  of  France  if  this 
truth  could  be  popularized.  The  least  intelligent  classes 
feel  the  benefit  of  a  public  policy  which  harmonizes  and 
coalesces  the  needs  of  all.  This  harmony  is  the  poetic 
side  of  order  ;  and  the  French  nation  feels  a  lively  need 
of  order.  The  co-operation  of  all  interests,  —  unity  in 
short,  to  give  our  meaning  in  one  word,  —  is  it  not  the 
simplest  expression  of  the  principle  of  order?  Archi- 
tecture, music,  poetry,  all  rest,  in  France  especially, 
upon  this  principle,  which  moreover  is  written  in  the 
depths  of  our  pure,  clear  language,  —  and  language  is, 
and  ever  will  be,  the  infallible  formula  of  a  nation. 
This  is  why  our  people  select  poetic  music  well  modu- 
lated, seize  simple  ideas,  and  choose  incisive  themes 
which  are  packed  with  thought.  France  is  the  only 
land  where  a  little  phrase  is  able  to  make  a  great  revo- 
lution. The  French  masses  have  never  revolted  from 
arry  other  reason  than  the  desire  to  put  in  unison  men, 
principles,  and  things.  Thus  no  nation  has  ever  so  well 
understood  the  idea  of  unit\T,  possibly  because  no  other 
has  so  fully  thought  out  political  necessities  :  as  to  this, 
history  has  never  found  it  in  the  background.  France 
is  often  deceived,  but  as  a  woman  is  deceived,  — by  gen- 
erous ideas,  by  ardent  sentiments,  whose  bearings  at 
first  escape  calculation. 

The  first  characteristic  trait  of  the  Faubourg  Saint- 
Germain  is  the  splendor  of  its  mansions,  their  large 
gardens  and  their  stillness,  in  keeping  with  its  ancient 
territorial  magnificence.  Is  not  this  space  intervening 
between  a  class  and  the  whole  cit}r-full  a  material  ex- 
pression of  the  moral  distance  which  separates  them? 
In  all  created  things  the  head  has  its  typical  place.  If, 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais, 


403 


perchance,  a  nation  fells  its  chief  at  its  feet,  it  discovers 
sooner  or  later  that  it  has  cut  its  own  throat.  A  nation 
will  not  admit  that  it  can  die  ;  therefore,  at  once  it  sets 
to  work  to  reconstruct  for  itself  a  head.  When  a  na- 
tion has  no  longer  the  strength  to  do  this  it  perishes,  — 
as  Rome,  Venice,  and  others  have  perished.  The  dis- 
tinction placed  by  different  habits  and  manners  between 
the  two  spheres  of  social  activnVy  and  social  superiority 
implies,  necessarily,  an  actual  and  commanding  worth 
at  the  aristocratic  summits.  Whenever,  in  any  State 
and  under  any  form  of  government,  the  patricians  fall 
below  the  conditions  of  true  superiority  they  lose  their 
strength,  and  the  people  cast  them  out.  The  people 
will  insist  on  seeing  in  their  hands,  in  their  hearts,  in 
their  heads,  fortune,  power,  and  the  initiative,  —  speech, 
intelligence,  and  glory.  Without  this  triple  strength 
their  privileges  vanish.  The  people,  like  women,  love 
power  in  the  hands  of  those  who  govern  them  ;  their 
love  is  not  given  where  they  do  not  respect  ;  they  will 
not  yield  obedience  to  those  who  do  not  command  their 
homage.  A  despised  aristocracy  is  like  a  roi  fai- 
néant, a  husband  in  petticoats  ;  it  is  a  nothing  before 
it  is  nought. 

Thus  the  sundering  of  the  great  from  the  body  of  the 
people,  their  separate  habits,  in  a  word  the  customs 
and  usages  of  the  patrician  caste,  is  both  the  symbol  of 
its  real  power  and  the  cause  of  its  destruction  when 
that  power  is  lost.  The  Faubourg  Saint-Germain  has 
allowed  itself  to  be  temporarily  cast  aside  because  it  has 
chosen  not  to  recognize  the  conditions  of  its  existence, 
which  existence  could  easily  have  been  perpetuated. 
It  ought  to  have  had  the  good  faith  to  see,  as  the 


404  The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


English  aristocracy  saw,  that  institutions  reach  climac- 
teric 3*ears,  when  terms  no  longer  have  their  past  mean- 
ing, when  ideas  clothe  themselves  in  new  garments, 
when  the  conditions  of  political  life  change  without  any 
essential  change  in  their  being.  These  thoughts  have 
developments  which  belong  to  our  tale,  both  in  defini- 
tion of  its  causes  and  in  explanation  of  its  facts. 

The  grandeur  of  châteaus  and  aristocratic  homes, 
the  luxury  of  their  details,  the  sumptuousness  of  their 
appointments  ;  the  orbit  in  which  the  fortunate  master, 
born  to  wealth,  moves  without  let  or  hindrance  ;  the 
habit  of  never  descending  to  the  petty  daily  calculations 
of  life  ;  the  leisure  at  his  disposal,  the  superior  educa- 
tion and  training  which  he  acquires  from  childhood  ;  in 
short,  all  those  traditions  of  high  breeding  that  give 
him  a  social  power  which  his  fellows  of  another  class 
can  barely  counterbalance  b}'  studj',  by  force  of  will, 
b}r  tenacious  clinging  to  some  vocation,  —  all  these 
things  should  lift  the  soul  of  the  man  who  from  his 
youth  possesses  these  privileges,  and  fill  him  with  that 
high  respect  for  himself  of  which  nobiliïy  of  the  heart 
in  keeping  with  the  nobility  of  his  name  is  the  natural 
consequence.  This  can  be  truly  said  of  certain  families. 
Here  and  there  in  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain  may  be 
found  noble  characters,  exceptions  which  weigh  against 
the  widespread  egoism  which  has  been  the  ruin  of  that 
exclusive  world. 

All  these  advantages  come  to  the  French  aristocracy 
as  they  do  to  the  patrician  order  of  all  nations,  because 
their  existence  rests  on  domain,  — domain  of  the  soil, 
which  is  the  only  solid  base  of  a  society.  Neverthe- 
less, those  advantages  remain  with  such  patricians  only 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais.  405 


so  long  as  they  fulfil  the  conditions  upon  which  the 
people  leave  them  in  their  possession.  They  hold  them 
as  moral  fiefs,  the  tenure  of  which  has  its  obligations  to 
the  sovereign,  —  and  in  our  day  the  sovereign  is  the 
people.  Times  have  changed  ;  so  have  weapons.  The 
knight  who  once  was  armed  with  coat  of  mail  and  hal- 
berd, and  went  to  war  with  lance  and  banner,  must  now 
give  proof  of  the  qualities  of  his  mind.  In  those  days, 
a  brave  heart  ;  in  our  day,  a  strong  brain.  Art,  science, 
and  gold  are  the  social  triangle  on  which  the  arms  of 
power  are  now  blazoned,  and  from  which  modern  aris- 
tocracy proceeds.  A  noble  work  is  the  equal  of  a  noble 
name.  The  Rothschilds,  those  modern  Fuggers,  are 
princes  de  facto.  A  great  artist  is  an  oligarchy  ;  he 
represents  his  century,  and  becomes  almost  always  a 
law.  Thus  with  the  gift  of  language  :  the  engines  at 
high  pressure  of  an  author,  the  genius  of  a  poet,  the 
perseverance  of  a  man  of  business,  the  will  of  a  states- 
man which  combines  in  one  man  man}'  dazzling  quali- 
ties, the  sword  of  a  general,  the  triumph  of  individuals 
in  the  many  ways  of  life  which  give  them  power  over 
societ}',  —  in  all  these  things  the  patrician  class  should 
seek  the  same  monopoly  which  they  once  held  in  the 
matter  of  material  strength. 

To  remain  at  the  head  of  a  nation  it  is  necessary  to 
know  how  to  lead  it  ;  to  be  the  soul  and  the  mind  to 
guide  the  fingers.  How  can  we  lead  if  we  have  not  the 
qualities  of  command?  What  is  the  marshal's  baton 
worth  if  it  is  not  wielded  by  the  trained  hand  of  a  cap- 
tain? The  Faubourg  Saint-Germain  has  played  with 
such  batons  and  thought  them  the  equivalent  of  strength. 
It  has  ignored  the  charter  of  its  existence.    Instead  of 


406 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais.. 


throwing  aside  symbols  which  offended  the  feelings  of 
the  people  and  holding  fast  to  the  essentials  of  its 
power,  it  has  let  the  middle  classes  seize  the  power 
while  it  clung  with  fatal  persistency  to  its  flag,  and 
neglected  the  laws  imposed  upon  it  by  its  numerical 
weakness.  An  aristocracy  which  is  scarcely  a  thou- 
sandth part  of  society  must  to-day,  as  heretofore,  multi- 
ply its  means  of  action  to  carry  in  the  great  crises  of 
history  a  weight  equal  to  that  of  the  masses.  In  our 
day  means  of  action  lie  in  actual  moral  strength,  not  in 
historical  tradition.  Unhappily  in  France  the  nobility, 
still  swelling  with  a  sense  of  its  ancient  and  vanished 
power,  excites  prejudice  against  which  it  defends  itself 
with  difficulty.  Perhaps  this  is  a  national  defect.  A 
Frenchman,  above  all  other  men,  never  steps  down  from 
his  position  ;  he  steps  from  his  own  place  to  the  place 
above  him,  —  with  little  phVvfor  those  he  steps  over,  but 
much  envy  of  others  still  above  him.  He  may  have  a 
great  deal  of  heart,  but  he  prefers  to  listen  to  his  head. 
This  national  instinct  which  sends  Frenchmen  always 
to  the  advance,  this  vanity  which  eats  into  their  fortune 
and  rules  them  as  rigidly  as  the  principle  of  economy 
rules  a  Dutchman,  has  for  three  centuries  absolutely 
dominated  our  nobility,  —  which  in  this  respect  has  been 
eminently  French. 

Since  the  establishment  of  the  Faubourg  Saint-Ger- 
main, —  a  revolution  of  aristocracy  which  began  on  the 
da}'  when  the  monarchy  left  Versailles,  — it  has,  allow- 
ing for  a  few  lapses,  allied  itself  with  power,  which  will 
always  in  France  be  more  or  less  Faubourg  Saint- 
Germain.  Hence  its  defeat  in  1830.  In  that  crisis  it 
was  like  an  army  operating  without  a  base.    It  had  not 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais.  407 


profited  by  the  peace  to  plant  itself  in  the  heart  of  the 
nation  :  it  failed  to  do  so  from  a  defect  of  training, 
through  a  total  inability  to  survey  the  whole  field  of  its 
interests.  It  slew  a  positive  future  in  favor  of  a  doubt- 
ful present.  The  reason  of  this  blundering  policy  may 
have  been,  that  the  material  and  moral  distance  which 
as  a  class  it  endeavored  to  maintain  between  itself  and 
the  rest  of  the  nation  resulted,  after  forty  years,  in  de- 
veloping the  personal  sentiment  of  distinction  at  the 
expense  of  the  patriotism  of  caste.  Formerly,  when  the 
French  nobility  were  rich  and  powerful  they  knew  in 
moments  of  danger  where  to  choose  their  leaders  and 
how  to  obey  them.  As  soon  as  they  became  less 
eminent  they  became  more  undisciplined.  Each  man 
sought,  as  in  the  Eastern  Empire,  to  be  an  emperor: 
perceiving  their  equality  in  weakness,  each  fancied  him- 
self individually  superior. 

Every  family  ruined  by  the  Revolution  and  by  the 
equal  division  of  property  thought  only  of  itself  instead 
of  considering  the  great  family  of  its  caste,  and  fancied 
that  if  each  were  enriched  the  whole  body  would  be 
strong.  An.  error.  Wealth  is  but  a  sign  of  power. 
These  families,  made  up  of  persons  who  maintained 
the  traditions  of  courtesy,  of  true  elegance,  of  pure 
language,  of  the  pride  and  reserve  of  nobles  in  the 
daily  current  of  their  lives,  —  occupations  which  be- 
come petty  when  made  the  chief  objects  of  existence,  to 
which  the}'  should  be  only  accessory,  —  had  a  certain 
intrinsic  worth,  which  judged  by  its  surface  appeared  to 
have  only  a  nominal  value.  Not  one  of  these  families 
had  the  courage  to  ask  itself  honestly,  Are  we.  capa- 
ble of  holding  power  ?    They  flung  themselves  into  it, 


408 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


as  the  lawyers  did  later  in  1830.  Instead  of  becoming 
a  protector,  —  the  natural  duty  of  the  great,  —  the  Fau- 
bourg Saint-Germain  showed  itself  grasping  as  a  par- 
venu. The  day  which  proved  to  the  most  observing 
nation  upon  earth  that  the  restored  nobility  had  organ- 
ized power  and  the  budget  for  its  own  selfish  profit,  the 
faubourg  received  a  mortal  wound.  It  was  pretending 
to  be  an  aristocracy,  when  in  fact  it  could  no  longer  bs 
anything  but  an  oligarchy,  —  two  widely  different  s}'s- 
tems,  as  any  man  clever  enough  to  read  intelligently  the 
ancestral  names  of  these  lords  of  the  Upper  House  will 
understand. 

Undoubtedly,  the  royal  government  was  well-inten- 
tioned ;  but  it  constantly  forgot  that  the  people  must 
be  trained  to  its  own  desires,  even  to  its  desires  of  hap- 
piness, and  that  France,  capricious  as  a  woman,  must 
be  made  happy  or  unhappy  in  her  own  way.  Had  there 
been  many  Ducs  de  Laval,  the  throne  of  the  eldest 
branch  would  have  been  as  firm  as  that  of  the  House 
of  Hanover.  In  1814,  and  above  all  in  1820,  the 
French  nobility  ruled  the  best-informed  epoch,  the 
most  aristocratic  middle-class,  and  the  most  feminine 
nation  in  the  world.  The  Faubourg  Saint-Germain 
could  easily  have  led  and  amused  that  middle-class, 
then  intoxicated  with  its  rise,  and  enamoured  of  the  arts 
and  sciences.  But  the  petty  lords  of  this  great  epoch 
in  national  intelligence  hated  and  misunderstood  arts 
and  sciences.  The}T  did  not  even  know  how  to  present 
religion,  of  which  they  stood  greatly  in  need,  under 
the  poetic  aspects  which  would  have  won  it  love. 
While  Lamartine,  Lamennais,  Montalembert,  and  oth- 
er writers  with  talents  essentially  poetic,  revivified  and 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais.  409 


uplifted  religious  ideas,  those  who  bungled  the  govern- 
ment made  religion  harsh  and  unacceptable.  Xo  nation 
was  ever  so  amenable  ;  she  was  like  a  woman  wear}'  of 
resisting,  who  lets  herself  be  won  :  and  no  government 
ever  made  such  blundering  mistakes.  France  and 
womanhood  would  seem  to  love  faults  !  To  reinstate 
itself,  to  found  a  great  oligarchical  government,  the 
noblesse  of  the  faubourg  should  have  searched  its  bor- 
ders in  good  faith  to  find  the  counter-genius  of  Xapo- 
leon  ;  it  should  have  demanded  of  its  own  loins  a 
constitutional  Richelieu.  If  such  genius  was  not  with- 
in it,  it  should  have  sought  it  in  lonely  garrets,  — 
where  perhaps  it  was  then  dying  of  inanition,  —  and 
transfused  that  blood  into  its  veins,  just  as  the  English 
House  of  Lords  gains  vigor  through  its  new  creations. 
But  the  great  system  of  English  Toryism  is  too  vast  for 
little  heads  ;  and  such  an  importation  of  customs  would 
have  taken  more  time  than  the  French,  ever  willing  to 
pay  for  one  success  by  one  fiasco,  would  have  given  to 
it.  Moreover,  far  from  having  that  recuperative  pol- 
icy which  seeks  strength  wherever  God  himself  has  put 
it,  these  little-great  nobles  hated  ever}'  strength  outside 
of  their  own. 

Thus  it  was  that  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain,  instead 
of  renewing  a  patrician  youth,  grew  aged.  Etiquette, 
an  institution  of  secondary  importance,  could  have  been 
maintained  if  kept  for  great  occasions  ;  but  etiquette 
became  a  daily  warfare,  and  instead  of  keeping  to  its 
place  as  a  matter  of  art  or  magnificence  it  became  a 
question  of  the  maintenance  of  power.  If  at  this  time 
the  throne  was  in  want  of  a  counsellor  equal  to  the  im- 
portance of  the  events  of  the  period,  the  aristocracy 


410 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


was  even  more  in  want  of  that  due  knowledge  of  public 
interests  which  might  have  supplied  the  other  defi- 
cienc}7.  It  balked  at  the  marriage  of  Monsieur  de 
Talleyrand,  the  only  man  of  the  time  who  had  the 
metal  and  the  head  to  recast  political  systems  and  glo- 
riously revive  France.  The  faubourg  mocked  at  states- 
men who  were  not  nobles,  and  3-et  it  furnished  no 
nobles  able  to  be  statesmen. 

The  nobility  might  have  rendered  enormous  service  to 
the  countiy  b}T  improving  their  soil,  constructing  roads 
and  canals,  raising  the  character  of  the  country  judges, 
making  themselves,  in  short,  an  active  territorial  power  ; 
but  instead  of  this  they  sold  their  lands  to  gamble  at 
the  Bourse.  They  might  have  won  from  the  middle 
classes  men  of  talent  and  action  by  opening  their  ranks 
to  admit  them.  But  the}r  chose,  on  the  contrary,  to 
attack  them,  —  and  attack  them  unarmed,  for  they  now 
held  only  as  a  tradition  the  force  which  they  once  pos- 
sessed. To  their  own  injury  they  retained  only  so 
much  of  their  past  fortunes  as  still  supported  a  haughty 
pride. 

Content  with  their  ancient  glory,  not  one  of  these 
families  put  their  sons  into  the  numerous  careers  which 
the  nineteenth  century  held  out  to  them.  Their  youth, 
thus  excluded  from  the  business  of  life,  danced  at  the 
balls  of  Madame  instead  of  pursuing  in  Paris,  under 
the  inspiration  of  the  fresh  conscientious  young  talent 
of  the  Empire  and  the  Republic,  the  work  which  these 
great  families  might  so  easily  have  begun  in  all  depart- 
ments, had  they  conformed  to  the  spirit  of  the  age,  and 
remodelled  their  caste  according  to  the  demands  of  the 
I  century, 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais.  411 

Gathered  in  its  Faubourg  Saint-Germain,  where  the 
spirit  of  old  feudal  oppositions  still  lingered  and  min- 
gled with  that  of  the  old  Court,  the  aristocracy,  coldly 
united  with  the  Tuileries,  existing  only  on  one  ground, 
and  above  all  constituted  as  it  was  in  the  Chamber  of 
Peers,  was  easy  to  overthrow.  As  part  of  the  bone 
and  sinew  of  the  country  it  would  have  been  indestruc- 
tible ;  but  cornered  in  the  faubourg,  appended  to  the 
Court,  spread  on  the  budget,  one  blow  of  an  axe  was 
all  that  was  needed  to  cut  the  frail  thread  of  its  life. 
The  commonplace  figure  of  a  little  lawyer  came  forward 
to  deal  the  blow.  Notwithstanding  the  fine  speech  of 
Monsieur  Royer-Collard,  the  hereditary  rights  of  the 
peerage  and  its  entailed  estates  fell  before  the  pasqui- 
nades of  a  man  who  boasted  that  he  had  saved  many 
heads  from  the  executioner,  but  who  now  guillotined, 
awkwardly  enough,  a  great  institution. 

In  all  this  we  may  find  warnings  and  instruction.  If 
the  French  oligarchy  is  to  have  no  future  life,  there 
would  be  sad  cruelty  in  thus  gibbeting  it  after  death  : 
we  ought  rather  to  think  of  burying  it  with  honors. 
But  if  the  surgeon's  knife  is  sharp  to  feel,  it  often  gives 
life  to  the  dying.  The  Faubourg  Saint-Germain  may 
one  day  find  itself  more  powerful  under  persecution 
than  it  ever  was  in  the  da}'s  of  its  glory,  —  if  it  finds  for 
itself  a  head  and  a  system. 

It  is  easy  to  draw  conclusions  from  this  rapid  semi- 
political  sketch.  The  lack  of  broad  views  and  the 
assemblage  of  small  errors  ;  the  desire  of  making  large 
fortunes;  the  want' of  a  creed  on  which  to  support 
political  action  ;  a  thirst  for  mere  pleasure,  which  low- 
ered the  religious  tone  and  necessitated  hypocrisy  ;  the 


412 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


partial  opposition  of  certain  nobler  spirits,  who  judged 
clearly  and  were  displeased  by  the  jealousies  of  the 
Court  ;  the  nobility  of  the  provinces,  often  purer  of  race 
than  the  court  nobles,  and  who,  if  slighted,  became  dis- 
affected, —  all  these  causes  combined  to  give  the  Fau- 
bourg Saint-Germain  discordant  elements  within  itself. 
It  was  neither  compact  in  S3rstem  nor  consistent  in  its 
acts  ;  neither  truly  moral  nor  honestly  licentious  ; 
neither  corrupt  nor  corrupting.  It  did  not  wholly  give 
up  the  questions  that  worked  to  its  injury,  neither 
would  it  adopt  ideas  which  might  have  saved  it.  Be- 
sides, however  weak  its  personality  ma}r  have  been,  the 
party  as  a  whole  was  undoubtedly  armed  with  certain 
principles  which  are  the  life  of  nations.  Therefore  it 
is  proper  to  ask  how  it  came  to  perish  in  its  vigor. 

It  was  exacting  in  its  selection  of  those  whom  it 
received  ;  it  had  good  taste  and  much  elegant  supercili- 
ousness, —  and  yet  its  fall  had  nothing  brilliant  or  chi- 
valric  about  it.  Round  the  emigration  of  '89  clustered 
strong  sentiments  ;  round  the  domestic  emigration  of 
1830  were  self-interests.  Yet  the  achievements  of  a 
few  men  in  literature  ;  the  triumphs  of  oratory,  of  states- 
manship ;  Monsieur  de  Talleyrand  in  the  congresses  ; 
the  conquest  of  Algiers,  and  the  glory  of  names  become 
historic  on  the  battlefield,  —  all  these  pointed  a  way  for 
the  aristocracy  of  France  to  nationalize  itself,  and  win 
back  the  recognition  of  its  rights,  if  only  it  would  deign 
to  take  it. 

In  all  organized  being  there  is  harmony  of  parts. 
If  a  man  is  lazy,  laziness  shows  itself  in  the  movements 
of  his  body.  In  like  manner  the  physiognomy  of  a 
class  conforms  to  the  spirit  of  it,  to  the  soul  which 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


413 


animates  the  body.  Under  the  Kestoration  the  woman 
of  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain  displayed  neither  the 
proud  hardihood  which  the  court  ladies  of  former  days 
put  into  their  transgressions,  nor  the  humble  dignity 
of  the  tardy  virtues  with  which  they  expiated  them  and 
which  shed  about  their  heads  a  vivid  lustre.  She  was 
neither  very  frivolous  nor  very  grave  ;  her  passions, 
with  a  few  exceptions,  were  hypocritical,  —  she  made 
terms,  as  it  were,  with  their  enjoyment.  A  few  of 
these  families  lived  the  bourgeois  life  of  the  Duchess  of 
Orleans,  whose  conjugal  bed  was  so  absurdly  shown  to 
visitors  of  the  Palais  Royal  ;  two  or  three  kept  up  the 
habits  of  the  Regency,  and  inspired  a  sort  of  disgust  in 
women  more  adroit  than  they. 

This  novel  species  of  great  lad}^  had  no  influence 
whatever  on  the  morals  of  the  time.  She  might  have 
had  much  ;  she  could  for  instance,  in  the  interests  of 
her  caste,  have  assumed  the  imposing  attitude  of  the 
women  of  the  English  aristocrac}*.  But  she  hesitated 
foolishly  among  her  old  traditions,  was  pious  on  com- 
pulsion and  hypocritical  in  all  things,  concealing  even 
her  good  qualities.  None  of  these  Frenchwomen  could 
create  a  salon  where  the  great  world  might  learn  and 
practise  lessons  of  good  taste  and  elegance.  Their 
voices,  once  so  potent  in  literature, — that  living  ex- 
pression of  all  societies,  —  were  now  absolutely  without 
sound. 

When  a  literature  has  no  system  it  has  no  body,  and 
disappears  with  its  day.  Wherever,  in  an}'  age,  there 
is  found  in  the  midst  of  a  nation  a  body  of  people 
drawn  apart  from  others,  history  nearly  always  finds 
among  them  some  principal  personage  who  illustrates 


414 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais, 


the  virtues  and  the  defects  of  the  society  to  which  he 
belongs,  —  such  as  Colign}7  among  the  Huguenots,  the 
Coadjutor  in  the  bosom  of  the  Fronde,  Richelieu  under 
Louis  XV.,  Danton  in  the  Terror.  This  identity  between 
a  man  and  his  historical  surroundings  belongs  to  the  na- 
ture of  things.  To  lead  parties,  must  we  not  be  in  har- 
mony with  their  ideas?  To  shine  in  an  epoch,  must  we 
not  fully  reflect  it?  From  this  constant  obligation  upon 
the  prudent  and  sagacious  leaders  of  a  State  to  consider 
the  follies  and  prejudices  of  the  masses,  come  the  acts 
for  which  some  historians  blame  statesmen,  when,  far 
removed  themselves  from  terrible  popular  convulsions, 
they  judge  in  cold  blood  the  passions  which  are  neces- 
sary to  control  great  secular  struggles. 

That  which  is  true  of  the  historical  comedy  of  the 
ages  is  also  true  in  the  narrower  sphere  of  those  scenes 
of  a  national  drama  which  are  called  its  morals. 


Z'he  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


415 


V. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  ephemeral  life  of  the  Fau- 
bourg S  ai  nt- Germain  under  the  Restoration,  to  which, 
if  the  foregoing  remarks  are  true,  it  proved  unable  to 
give  stability,  a  young  woman  was  for  a  time  a  com- 
plete type  of  the  nature,  at  once  superior  and  feeble, 
grand  and  yet  puerile,  of  her  caste.  She  was  a  woman 
artificially  educated,  but  really  ignorant  ;  full  of  noble 
sentiments,  yet  lacking  thought  to  bring  them  into  or- 
der ;  spending  the  rich  treasures  of  her  soul  on  conven- 
tionalities, though  not  unwilling  to  brave  society  ;  hesi- 
tating, nevertheless,  and  dropping  into  artifice  as  the 
natural  consequence  of  her  scruples  ;  with  more  wa}r- 
wardness  than  character,  more  tastes  than  enthusiasm, 
more  head  than  heart  ;  eminently  a  woman  and  essen- 
tially a  coquette  ;  Parisian  to  the  core  ;  loving  the 
brilliancy  of  the  world  and  its  amusements  ;  reflecting 
not  at  all,  or  reflecting  too  late  ;  of  a  natural  impru- 
dence, which  rose  at  times  almost  to  poetic  heights  ; 
deliciously  insolent,  yet  humble  in  the  depths  of  her 
heart  ;  asserting  strength  like  a  reed  erect,  but,  like 
the  reed,  read}-  to  bend  beneath  a  firm  hand  ;  talking 
much  of  religion,  not  loving  it,  and  yet  prepared  to 
accept  it  as  a  possible  finalhy.  How  shall  I  portra}T 
a  creature  so  many-sided  ?  Capable  of  heroism,  yet 
forgetting  to  be  heroic  for  the  sake  of  uttering  some 
witty  malice  ;  young  and  sweet  ;  not  old  in  heart,  but 


416 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeai*  ^ 


aged  by  the  maxims  of  the  world  about  her,  —  under- 
standing its  selfish  philosophy,  but  never  applying  it  ; 
with  the  vices  of  a  courtier  and  the  nobility  of  fresh 
womanhood  ;  distrusting  all  things,  yet  yielding  herself 
up  at  moments  to  the  fulness  of  faith. 

Must  not  the  portrait  of  this  woman,  whose  ever- 
changing  tints  confused  each  other,  yet  with  poetic 
confusion,  for  a  divine  light  blended  them,  remain  for- 
ever unachieved  ?  Her  grace  was  the  harmon}7  of  her 
being.  Nothing  in  her  was  feigned.  These  passions, 
these  half-passions,  this  caprice  of  grandeur,  this 
reality  of  pettiness,  these  cold  feelings  and  warm 
impulses,  were  natural  to  her,  and  came  as  much  from 
her  personal  position  as  from  that  of  the  aristocrac}T  to 
which  she  belonged.  She  knew  she  was  solitary  in  life, 
and  she  held  herself  proudly  above  the  world,  in  the 
shelter  of  her  great  name.  Medea's  Zwas  in  her  soul, 
as  it  was  in  that  of  her  caste,  which  was  dying  because 
unwilling  to  rouse  itself  or  seek  a  physician  of  the  body- 
politic,  to  hold  or  to  be  held  to  anything,  so  pro- 
foundly did  it  feel  itself  dead  and  turning  into  dust. 

The  Duchesse  de  Langeais,  such  was  her  name,  had 
been  married  about  four  years  at  the  time  of  the 
Restoration  ;  that  is  to  say,  in  1816,  when  Louis  XVIII., 
enlightened  by  the  revolution  of  the  Hundred  Days, 
comprehended  his  situation  and  his  century  in  spite  of 
advisers,  who  nevertheless  got  the  better  of  this  Louis 
XI.  without  an  axe,  so  soon  as  he  was  struck  down 
by  disease.  The  Duchesse  de  Langeais  was  a  Nav- 
arreins,  —  a  ducal  family,  which  from  the  time  of  Louis 
XIV.  had  followed  the  practice  of  never  abdicating  its 
own  name  and  titles  in  its  marriages.    The  daughters 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais.  417 


of  the  house  as  well  as  their  mother  had  the  right  to 
a  tabouret  at  Court.  At  the  age  of  eighteen,  Antoinette 
de  Navarreins  came  from  the  deep  seclusion  in  which 
she  had  been  brought  up,  to  many  the  eldest  son  of  the 
Duc  de  Langeais.  These  families  were  then  living 
isolated  from  the  world  ;  but  the  invasion  of  France 
now  promised  to  the  royalists  the  return  of  the  Bourbons 
as  the  only  possible  conclusion  of  the  war. 

The  dukes  of  Navarreins  and  Langeais,  faithful  to 
the  Bourbons,  had  nobly  resisted  the  seduction  of  im- 
perial distinctions,  and  the  circumstances  in  which  they 
were  placed  before  this  marriage  obliged  them  to  keep 
up  the  ancient  policy  of  their  families.  Mademoiselle 
Antoinette  de  Navarreins,  beautiful  and  poor,  was  there- 
fore married  to  the  Marquis  de  Langeais,  whose  father 
the  duke  died  a  few  months  after  the  marriage.  On 
the  return  of  the  Bourbons  the  two  families  reassumed 
their  rank,  their  functions,  and  their  court  dignities  ; 
once  more  taking  part  in  society,  from  which  they  had 
long  withheld  themselves.  They  now  stood  at  the  sum- 
mit of  the  restored  political  and  social  world.  In  that 
dajT  of  base  and  false  conversions,  the  public  conscience 
recognized  with  satisfaction  the  spotless  fidelity  of  these 
families  and  the  harmony  of  their  private  acts  with  their 
political  probity,  to  which  all  parties  rendered  invol- 
untary homage.  But  by  a  misfortune  not  uncommon 
in  times  of  compromise,  noble  natures,  whose  elevated 
views  and  sound  principles  might  have  taught  France  the 
generosity  of  a  new  and  bold  policy,  were  pushed  aside 
from  the  affairs  of  the  nation,  which  fell  into  the  hands 
of  those  who  were  interested  in  earning  principles  to 
an  extreme  as  a  pledge  of  their  new-born  devotion. 

27 


418 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais, 


The  families  De  Langeais  and  De  Navarreins  were 
therefore  retained  in  the  highest  sphere  of  court  life, 
and  condemned  to  bear  the  duties  of  its  etiquette  as 
well  as  the  reproaches  and  ridicule  of  liberalism,  by 
which  they  were  accused  of  gorging  themselves  witl 
honors  and  wealth,  while  in  point  of  fact  their  patri- 
monies had  not  increased,  and  their  receipts  from  the 
civil  list  were  consumed  try  the  mere  costs  of  appear- 
ance, —  a  necessity  for  all  European  monarchies,  even 
those  which  are  republican. 

In  1818  the  Duc  de  Langeais  commanded  a  military 
division  in  the  provinces,  and  the  duchess  had  a  place 
at  Court  in  the  suite  of  one  of  the  princesses,  which 
enabled  her  to  live  in  Paris  far  from  her  husband  with- 
out scandal.  The  duke  had,  in  addition  to  his  com- 
mand, some  court  function  which  sometimes  required 
his  presence  ;  on  which  occasions  he  left  the  division 
in  charge  of  a  general  of  brigade.  The  duke  and  the 
duchess  lived  absolutely  separated  from  one  another, 
both  in  fact  and  in  feeling.  This  marriage  of  mere  con- 
vention had  resulted  as  such  family  compacts  usually 
do.  Two  characters  most  uncongenial  had  suddenly 
been  brought  together  ;  they  displeased  and  wounded 
each  other,  and  separated  forever, — each  following  the 
bent  of  their  own  nature  and  the  habits  of  their  world. 
The  Duc  de  Langeais,  as  great  a  martinet  as  the  Cheva- 
lier Folard  (famous  as  a  writer  on  military  tactics),  gave 
himself  up  methodically  to  his  tastes  and  his  pleasures, 
and  left  his  wife  absolutely  free  to  follow  hers.  He 
perceived  in  her  nature  a  proud  spirit,  a  cold  heart, 
a  deep  submission  to  the  customs  of  the  world,  and  a 
youthful  honor  which  was  likely  to  remain  unsullied 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais,  419 


under  the  eyes  of  their  grandparents  and  in  the  atmos- 
phere of  a  court  at  once 'pious  and  prudish.  He  played 
deliberately  and  in  cold  blood  the  part  of  a  seign- 
eur of  the  preceding  century,  and  abandoned  a  young 
woman  of  twenty-two  whom  he  hud  deeply  offended, 
and  who  had  in  her  character  the  alarming  quality 
of  never  pardoning  an  offence  if  her  vanity  as  a 
woman,  or  her  pride,  or  her  virtues,  had  been  misun- 
derstood and  secretly  wounded.  When  an  outrage 
is  made  public  a  woman  prefers  to  forget  it  ;  it  gives 
her  opportunities  for  generous  action.  She  is  a  woman 
in  her  forgiveness  ;  but  women  will  not  forgive  secret 
wrongs,  because  they  like  nothing  that  is  hidden,  — nei- 
ther virtue,  nor  love,  nor  concealed  cowardice. 

Such  was  the  position,  unknown  to  the  world,  in 
which  the  Duchesse  de  Langeais  found  herself,  and  on 
which  she  wasted  no  reflections,  when  the  fêtes  in  honor 
of  the  marriage  of  the  Duc  de  Berri  took  place.  On 
this  occasion  the  Court  and  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain 
came  out  of  their  apathy  and  reserve  ;  and  from  that 
event  dates  the  unheard-of  splendor  which  the  Govern- 
ment of  the  Restoration  wantonly  displayed.  At  this 
period  the  Duchesse  de  Langeais,  from  policy  or  from 
vanity,  never  appeared  in  the  world  unless  surrounded 
by  a  bevy  of  three  or  four  women  distinguished  by 
name  as  well  as  by  position.  Queen  of  society,  she  had 
her  ladies-in-waiting,  who  reproduced  in  other  salons 
her  manners  and  her  wit.  She  had  cleverly  chosen 
them  from  among  those  who  were  not  closely  allied 
either  to  the  Court  or  the  Faubourg,  but  who  aspired 
to  both  positions,  and  who  sought  to  rise  into  the 
atmosphere  of  royalty,  and  breathe  the  seraphic  air 


420  The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


of  that  high  sphere  called  in  those  days  u  le  petit 
chateau." 

In  such  a  position  the  Duchesse  de  Langeais  was 
strong,  well-supported,  and  in  perfect  security.  Her 
ladies  defended  her  against  calumny,  and  helped  her  to 
pla}T  the  contemptible  part  of  a  woman  of  fashion.  She 
could  laugh  at  men  and  passions  at  her  ease  ;  excite 
them,  gather  in  the  homage  which  nourishes  female 
nature,  and  yet  remain  mistress  of  herself.  In  the 
great  world  of  Paris,  women  are  always  true  to  the 
nature  of  woman  ;  the}T  live  by  incense,  flattery,  and 
praise.  Beauty  the  most  perfect,  grace  the  most  ador- 
able, what  are  they  worth  if  not  admired  ?  Lovers  and 
the  sycophancy  of  adulation  are  the  vouchers  of  their 
power.  What  is  power  if  unnoticed  ?  Nothing.  The 
prettiest  woman  in  the  world  alone  in  the  corner  of  a 
salon  is  unhappy.  When  such  a  woman  is  at  the  centre 
of  social  magnificence  she  craves  to  reign  in  all  hearts,  — 
sometimes,  because  she  cannot  be  the  happy  sovereign 
of  one.  At  this  period  of  our  history  her  toilettes^ 
her  charms,  her  coquetries  were  lavished  on  beings  as 
paltiy  as  were  ever  found  in  any  society,  —  fops  without 
mind,  men  whose  sole  merit  was  a  handsome  face,  for 
whom  women  compromised  themselves  without  equiva- 
lent ;  gilded  idols  of  wood,  who  with  a  few  exceptions 
had  neither  the  antecedents  of  the  coxcombs  in  the 
days  of  the  Fronde,  nor  the  solid  weight  of  the  heroes 
of  the  Empire,  nor  the  wit  and  manners  of  their 
grandfathers,  but  who  assumed,  nevertheless,  to  possess 
these  advantages  gratis.  They  were  brave,  as  all  young 
Frenchmen  are  ;  they  had  ability  no  doubt,  if  put  to 
the  proof,  but  they  were  helpless  during  the  lifetime  of 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais,  421 

old  men  who  held  them  as  it  were  in  a  leash.  It  was 
a  cold,  petty,  and  unpoetical  epoch  ;  and  proves  perhaps 
that  a  Restoration  needs  time  to  become  a  Monarchy. 

For  eighteen  months  the  Duchesse  de  Langeais  had 
led  this  empt}'  life,  filled  exclusively  with  balls  and 
amusements,  triumphs  without  an  object,  and  ephemeral 
passions  born  and  dead  of  a  night.  When  she  entered 
a  room  all  eyes  turned  upon  her  ;  she  gleaned  flatteries 
passionately  expressed,  and  encouraged  them  with  a 
gesture  or  a  glance,  but  they  never  penetrated  beneath 
her  fair  exterior.  Her  tone,  her  manners,  everything 
about  her  marked  authority.  She  lived  a  feverish  life 
of  vanity  and  perpetual  amusement  which  made  her 
giddy  ;  and  at  times  she  went  far  in  conversation,  lis- 
tened to  everything,  and  depraved,  so  to  speak,  the 
surface  of  her  mind.  "When  alone,  she  often  blushed 
over  the  recollection  of  things  at  which  she  had  laughed 
in  public,  — scandalous  stories,  whose  details  had  helped 
her  to  discuss  theories  of  love  of  which  she  knew 
nothing,  and  the  subtle  distinctions  of  modern  pas- 
sion which  complying  hypocrites  of  her  own  sex  ex- 
pounded to  her  ;  for  women,  able  to  say  everything  to 
each  other,  lose  among  themselves  more  purity  than 
men  take  from  them. 

There  came  a  time  when  she  saw  that  the  woman 
beloved  was  the  only  being  whose  beauty  and  whose 
mind  were  really  recognized.  What  was  a  husband? 
He  merely  proved  that  a  young  girl  was  well  brought  up 
or  well  portioned,  had  a  clever  mother,  or  that  she  sat- 
isfied a  man's  ambition.  But  a  lover  was  a  perpetual 
programme  of  her  personal  perfections.  Madame  de 
Langeais  learned,  young  as  she  was,  that  a  woman 


422 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais, 


could  allow  herself  to  love  ostensibly,  without  sharing 
in  love,  without  sanctioning  it,  without  gratifying  it 
except  by  the  most  meagre  pittance  of  return  ;  and 
more  than  one  hypocritical  prude  taught  her  the  method 
of  playing  these  dangerous  comedies. 

The  duchess  therefore  had  her  court  where  the  num- 
ber of  those  who  adored  her  and  courted  her  was  the 
guarantee  of  her  virtue.  One  evening  she  was  at  the 
house  of  an  intimate  friend,  the  Viscomtesse  de  Fon- 
tanges,  —  a  humble  rival  who  hated  her  sincerely  and 
accompanied  her  everywhere,  and  with  whom  she  main- 
tained a  species  of  armed  friendship  in  which  both  were 
distrustful  and  their  confidences  discreet,  not  to  sa}r 
deceitful.  After  distributing  a  few  patronizing  recog- 
nitions with  the  air  of  a  woman  who  knows  the  value 
of  her  smiles,  her  eyes  chanced  to  fall  upon  a  man 
wholly  unknown  to  her,  whose  grave  and  noble  counte- 
nance took  her  completely  by  surprise.  She  felt  as  she 
looked  at  him  an  emotion  that  resembled  fear. 

"  My  dear,"  she  said  to  the  Duchesse  de  Maufrig- 
neuse,  who  was  standing  near  her  ;  "  who  is  that  new- 
comer?" 

'  '  A  man  whom  you  must  have  heard  of,  —  the  Mar- 
quis de  Montriveau." 

"  Ah,  is  it  he?  "  She  raised  her  eyeglass  and  exam- 
ined him  coolry,  as  she  might  have  looked  at  a  portrait 
which  receives  all  glances  and  can  return  none.  "  Pre- 
sent him  to  me,"  she  said  ;  "he  must  be  amusing." 

'  '  The  most  tiresome  and  gloomy  man  in  the  worldi 
my  dear  ;  but  he  is  all  the  fashion." 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais, 


423 


VL 

Monsieur  Armand  de  Montriveau  was  at  this  time, 
though  unaware  of  it,  an  object  of  great  fashionable 
curiosity  ;  and  he  deserved  it  far  more  than  the  passing 
idols  with  which  Paris  is  enamored  for  a  few  days, 
merely  to  satisfy  the  passion  of  infatuation  and  false 
enthusiasm  with  which  it  is  periodically  afflicted- 

Armand  de  Montriveau  was  the  only  son  of  General 
de  Montriveau,  one  of  the  ci  devant  nobles  before 
the  Revolution,  who  nobly  served  the  Republic  and 
perished, — killed  by  the  side  of  Joubert,  at  Novi. 
The  orphan  was  placed  by  order  of  Bonaparte  in  the 
military  school  at  Chalons,  and  taken,  with  sons  of 
other  generals  killed  in  battle,  under  the  protection  of 
the  French  republic.  On  leaving  Chalons  without  for- 
tune, he  entered  the  artillery,  and  was  in  command  of 
only  a  battalion  when  the  disaster  at  Fontainebleau 
occurred.  The  arm  to  which  he  belonged  offered  few 
chances  of  promotion.  In  the  first  place  the  number  of 
its  officers  is  more  limited  than  in  any  other  branch  of  the 
service  ;  next,  the  liberal,  almost  republican,  opinions 
which  the  artillery  professed,  and  the  fears  thus  inspired 
in  the  Emperor's  mind  by  a  body  of  instructed  men 
accustomed  to  reflection,  went  far  to  hinder  the  military 
fortunes  of  the  best  of  them.  Contrary,  therefore,  to  the 
usual  rule,  officers  advanced  to  the  generalship  of  this 
arm  were  not  always  the  most  distinguished  members 


424 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


of  it,  for  the  reason  that  in  the  eyes  of  the  Emperor 
mediocrity  was  a  safeguard.  The  artillery  was  a  corps 
apart  to  some  extent  from  the  army  itself,  and  belonged 
to  Napoleon  only  on  the  field  of  battle. 

To  these  general  causes,  which  partly  explain  the 
checks  which  Armand  de  Montriveau  had  encountered  in 
his  military  career,  were  joined  others  inherent  in  his 
person  and  character.  Alone  in  the  world  ;  thrown  at 
the  age  of  twent}*  into  the  midst  of  that  tempestuous 
crowd  of  men  who  surrounded  Napoleon  ;  having  no 
interests  outside  of  himself;  prepared  to  meet  death 
day  by  day,  —  he  came  to  live  within  his  own  mind 
by  an  honorable  self-esteem  and  the  consciousness  of 
duty  fulfilled.  He  was  habitually  silent,  like  other  timid 
men  ;  timid,  not  from  lack  of  courage,  but  from  a  sort 
of  shyness  and  modesty  which  kept  him  from  all  demon- 
stration of  himself.  His  intrepidity  on  the  battle-field 
was  never  mere  bluster  :  his  e}'e  was  everywhere  ;  he 
could  tranquilly  give  orders  and  advice  to  his  comrades, 
or  advance  himself  into  the  midst  of  bullets,  —  bending, 
however,  at  the  right  moment  to  avoid  them.  His  nature 
was  kind,  but  his  countenance  made  him  seem  haughty 
and  severe.  With  principles  that  were  mathematically 
stern,  he  admitted  no  hypocritical  compromises  with  the 
duties  of  his  position,  nor  with  the  consequences  of  his 
acts.  He  lent  himself  to  nothing  of  which  he  could  feel 
ashamed,  and  asked  nothing  for  himself.  He  was,  in 
truth,  one  of  the  world's  great  men  unrecognized,  —  men 
who  are  philosophical  enough  to  despise  mere  glory, 
and  who  live  without  attachment  to  life  for  the  reason 
that  they'  do  not  find  a  wa}r  to  develop  their  powers  of 
mind  and  heart  to  their  full  extent.    He  was  feared, 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


425 


held  in  high  esteem,  and  little  loved.  Men  will  permit 
us  to  rise  above  them,  but  they  will  not  forgive  him  who 
refuses  to  descend  as  low  as  they.  Thus  the  feelings 
they  bestow  on  noble  characters  are  never  without  the 
elements  of  hatred  and  fear.  To  be  worthy  of  high 
honor  is  for  them  a  tacit  censure,  which  they  forgive 
neither  to  the  living  nor  to  the  dead. 

After  the  parting  at  Fontainebleau,  Montriveau, 
though  noble  and  titled,  was  placed  on  half-pay.  His 
old-fashioned  integrity  alarmed  the  war  department, 
where  his  faithfulness  to  his  oath  taken  to  the  imperial 
eagle  was  well  understood.  During  the  Hundred  Da}Ts 
he  was  appointed  colonel  of  the  Guard,  and  was 
wounded  at  Waterloo.  His  wounds  having  detained 
him  in  Belgium,  he  was  not  with  the  army  of  the  Loire. 
Nevertheless,  the  royal  government  would  not  recog- 
nize a  rank  bestowed  during  those  Da}~s,  and  Armand 
de  Montriveau,  thus  put  aside,  quitted  France.  Led 
by  a  spirit  of  enterprise  and  a  nobility  of  mind  which 
up  to  this  time  the  chances  of  war  had  satisfied, 
prompted  also  by  the  instinctive  desire  of  high  natures 
for  enterprises  of  national  utility,  the  Marquis  de  Mon- 
triveau embarked  on  a  journey  to  explore  Upper  Egypt 
and  the  unknown  parts  of  Africa,  more  especially  the 
central  countries  which  in  our  day  excite  the  interest  of 
men  of  science.  The  expedition  was  long  and  disas- 
trous. He  gathered  precious  notes,  which  would  have 
given  long-sought  solutions  to  many  geographical  and 
industrial  problems.  He  had  reached,  not  without  sur- 
mounting obstacles,  the  very  heart  of  Africa,  when  he 
fell  by  treachery  into  the  power  of  a  savage  tribe. 
He  was  stripped  of  everything,  held  in  slavery,  and 


426 


The  Duchesse  de.  Langeais. 


dragged  for  two  years  across  deserts,  threatened  with 
death  at  every  moment,  and  worse  treated  than  an  ani- 
mal in  the  hands  of  pitiless  children.  His  bodily 
strength  and  the  steadfast  courage  of  his  nature  en- 
abled him  to  bear  the  horrors  of  his  captivity  ;  and  he 
bent  the  full  force  of  his  energy  to  a  plan  of  escape, 
which  succeeded  miraculously.  He  reached  the  French 
settlement  on  the  Senegal  half  dead,  in  rags,  and  with 
nothing  left  of  his  enterprise  but  the  recollections  pre- 
served in  his  own  mind.  The  immense  toils  of  the 
journe}',  his  studies  of  African  dialects,  his  discoveries 
and  scientific  observations  were  all  lost.  A  single  fact 
will  serve  to  illustrate  his  sufferings.  For  several  days 
the  children  of  the  sheik  of  the  tribe  which  held  him 
in  bondage  amused  themselves  by  a  game  of  throwing 
the  bones  of  horses  at  his  head  and  making  them 
stick  there. 

Montriveau  returned  to  Paris  in  the  summer  of  1818 
ruined  in  prospects,  without  patrons  and  seeking  none. 
He  would  have  died  twenty  times  rather  than  solicit  a 
favor,  no  matter  what  it  might  be,  not  even  the  recog- 
nition of  his  own  rights.  Adversity  and  suffering  had 
developed  his  native  energy  even  in  small  things  ;  and 
the  habit  of  maintaining  his  dignity  as  a  man  in  pres- 
ence of  that  moral  being  which  we  call  conscience, 
gave  importance  in  his  mind  to  acts  apparently  in- 
significant. Nevertheless,  his  reports  to  the  scientific 
men  of  Paris  and  to  a  few  mihtar}T  men  of  attainments 
made  known  to  a  certain  extent  his  merits  and  his 
adventures. 

The  particulars  of  his  travels,  more  especially  those 
of  his  captivity  and  escape,  revealed  such  wisdom  and 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


427 


courage  that  he  acquired  without  being  aware  of  it  the 
fleeting  celebrity  of  which  the  salons  of  Paris  are  pro- 
digal, and  which  is  only  perpetuated  at  the  price  of 
unheard-of  efforts.  Towards  the  end  of  the  year  his 
position  suddenly  changed.  From  poor  he  became 
rich,  or  at  least  he  had  the  external  advantages  of 
wealth.  The  royal  government,  which  now  felt  the  need 
of  attracting  men  who  would  give  real  strength  to  the 
army,  began  to  make  concessions  to  those  old  officers 
whose  known  character  and  loyalt}T  offered  guarantees 
of  fidelity.  Monsieur  de  Montrivean  was  replaced  on 
his  rank  in  the  Royal  Guard,  and  favors  were  succes- 
sively showm  to  him  without  solicitation  of  his  own  ;  for 
friends  spared  him  all  personal  efforts,  which  he  assur- 
edly would  never  have  made  for  himself. 

Contrary  to  his  habits,  which  in  this  respect  suddenly 
changed,  he  went  into  society,  where  he  was  favorably 
received,  and  where  he  met  on  all  sides  evidences  of 
esteem.  He  seemed  to  have  reached  some  crisis  in  his 
life  ;  but  in  him  all  took  place  within  his  own  breast, 
and  he  confided  nothing  to  the  world  without.  He  bore 
in  society  a  grave  and  reserved  manner,  and  was  coldly 
silent.  Yet  in  spite  of  this  he  had  much  social  success  ; 
precisely  because  his  presence  cut  sharply  across  the 
monotony  of  the  conventional  faces  which  at  that  epoch 
furnished  the  salons  of  Paris,  where,  indeed,  his  own 
was  singularly  unique.  His  speech  had  the  conciseness 
that  belongs  to  the  language  of  solitary  men  and  sav- 
ages. His  slryness  was  taken  for  pride,  and  pleased 
accordingly.  He  was  both  strange  and  grand,  and 
women  were  all  the  more  taken  wTith  him  because  he 
escaped  from  their  adroit  flatteries  and  the  manœuvres 


428 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais» 


by  which  the}7  circumvent  men,  —  even  men  with  force 
of  character,  —  and  worm  their  way  into  the  feelings 
of  the  most  inflexible.  Monsieur  de  Montriveau  did 
not  in  the  least  understand  their  little  Parisian  tricks  ; 
his  nature  could  respond  only  to  the  sonorous  vibra- 
tions of  real  feeling,  and  society  might  soon  have  left 
him  to  himself  if  friends  had  not  sung  his  praises,  and 
if  the  woman  who  was  destined  to  occup}7  his  thoughts 
had  not  desired  the  triumph  of  her  self-love. 

Thus  the  curiosity  of  the  Duchesse  de  Langeais  was 
as  lively  as  it  was  natural.  Ity  a  mere  chance  this  man 
had  interested  her  the  night  before,  for  some  one  had 
related  to  her  a  scene  in  Monsieur  de  Montriveau's 
journey  which  was  fit  to  impress  the  lively  imagination 
of  a  woman.  In  an  expedition  towards  the  sources  of 
the  Nile,  Monsieur  de  Montriveau  had  a  struggle  with 
one  of  his  guides  as  remarkable  as  any  that  can  be 
found  in  the  annals  of  travel.  There  was  a  desert 
which  he  was  compelled  to  cross  on  foot  in  order  to 
reach  a  point  that  he  was  anxious  to  explore.  Only  one 
man  was  able  to  guide  him.  Up  to  that  time  no  travel- 
ler had  penetrated  to  this  region,  where  the  intrepid  offi- 
cer believed  he  should  find  the  solution  of  several  scientific 
problems.  In  spite  of  remonstrances  from  the  old  men 
of  the  country  and  from  the  man  who  offered  to  guide 
him,  he  persisted  in  undertaking  the  terrible  journey. 

Armed  with  all  his  courage,  —  roused,  we  may  add, 
by  the  assurance  of  great  difficulties  to  overcome,  — 
he  started  early  one  morning.  After  marching  through 
the  desert  for  a  whole  day  he  slept  at  night  upon  the 
sand,  enduring  unexpected  fatigue  from  the  shifting  of 
his  bed,  which  seemed  to  slip  away  from  him  at  every 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais* 


429 


tara.  He  knew  that  on  the  morrow  he  must  start  at 
daybreak,  and  the  guide  had  assured  him  that  by  the 
middle  of  the  day  he  should  reach  his  goal.  This  assur- 
ance gave  him  courage  and  invigorated  his  strength, 
and  in  spite  of  his  sufferings  he  continued  his  way, 
cursing  science  in  his  heart,  but  ashamed  to  complain 
openly  before  his  guide.  He  had  marched  for  more 
than  a  third  of  the  day  when  his  strength  gave  out,  and 
his  feet  became  blistered  and  bleeding.  Turning  to  the 
guide,  he  asked  if  they  should  soon  arrive. 
"  In  one  hour,"  said  the  Arab. 

Armand  roused  his  strength  for  one  hour  more,  and 
-went  on.  The  hour  went  by,  and  still  nothing  was  seen 
on  the  horizon  of  sand,  vast  as  the  ocean,  of  the 
palm-trees  and  the  wooded  hills,  the  sight  of  whose 
tops  would  have  foretold  the  end  of  Iris  journey.  He 
stopped  and  refused  to  go  farther  ;  he  threatened  the 
guide,  called  him  a  murderer,  and  accused  him  of  wilful 
deception.  Tears  of  rage  and  horrible  fatigue  ran  down 
his  scorched  cheeks  ;  he  was  bent  double  with  the  suffer- 
ings of  the  march,  and  his  throat  seemed  closing  with 
the  thirst  of  the  desert.  The  guide,  unmoved,  listened  to 
his  reproaches  with  an  ironical  air,  seeming  to  study  with 
the  indifference  of  an  Oriental  the  texture  of  the  sand, 
now  almost  black  in  its  reflections  like  burnished  gold. 

"  I  was  deceived,"  he  said  coldly.  "  It  is  long  since 
I  came  this  wa}',  and  I  can  hardly  find  the  track.  We 
are  on  it,  but  we  still  have  two  hours  march  before  us." 

"  The  man  is  doubtless  right,"  thought  Montriveau, 
and  he  went  on  with  difficulty,  following  the  pitiless 
Arab,  to  whom  he  seemed  bound  by  cords  as  a  con- 
demned man  is  bound  to  his  executioner. 


430 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais, 


The  two  hours  passed  ;  the  Frenchman  had  spent  his 
last  energ}*,  and  still  the  horizon  lay  straight,  its  line  un- 
broken by  palms  or  mountains.  He  had  no  strength  left 
for  cries  or  murmurs,  and  he  lay  down  on  the  sand  to 
die  ;  but  his  glance  might  have  terrified  even  an  intrepid 
man  :  it  seemed  to  tell  his  guide  that  he  would  not 
die  alone.  The  Arab  looked  at  him  like  a  demon, 
with  a  calm  e}'e  full  of  power,  and  left  him  where 
he  lay,  moving  to  a  short  distance  out  of  range  of 
his  victim's  despair.  Presently  Montriveau  recovered 
strength  to  utter  a  last  curse.  The  man  came  to  him, 
looked  at  him  fixedly,  motioned  him  to  silence,  and 
said  :  — 

"  Did  you  not  insist  against  our  advice  on  going  to 
the  place  to  which  I  am  now  guiding  you  ?  You  re- 
proach me  with  deceiving  }*ou.  If  I  had  not  deceived 
you,  you  could  not  have  come  as  far  as  this.  You  ask 
the  truth  :  here  it  is.  We  have  five  hours'  march  before 
us  :  we  cannot  now  turn  back  upon  our  steps.  Sound 
your  heart  ;  if  your  courage  fails,  here  is  my  poniard." 

Struck  by  this  union  of  human  will  and  endurance, 
Monsieur  de  Montriveau  would  not  fall  below  the  stand- 
ard of  a  barbarian  :  drawing  from  his  European  pride  a 
fresh  draught  of  courage,  he  went  on.  The  five  hours 
passed  by  ;  and  still  nothing  was  seen.  Montriveau 
turned  a  dying  eye  upon  his  guide  ;  but  at  the  same 
moment  the  Arab  lifted  him  on  his  shoulders  and 
showed  him  almost  at  their  feet  a  lake  embosomed  in 
verdure,  and  a  forest  lit  up  by  the  rays  of  the  setting 
sun.  They  were  within  a  short  distance  of  a  granite 
ledge,  beneath  which  an  earthly  paradise  lay,  as  it  were, 
buried.    Armand  felt  born  again  ;  and  his  guide,  that 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais,  431 


giant  of  intelligence  and  courage,  ended  his  labor  of 
devotion  by  carrying  the  intrepid  explorer  across  the 
burning  and  polished  granite  ;  from  which  he  could  see 
on  the  one  hand  the  hell  of  the  torturing  sand,  and  on 
the  other  the  loveliest  oasis  of  the  desert. 

Madame  de  Langeais,  already  struck  with  the  aspect 
of  this  poetic  personage,  was  still  more  interested 
when  she  learned  that  he  was  the  Marquis  cle  Mon- 
triveau,  of  whom  she  had  dreamed  the  night  before. 
To  have  followed  him  across  the  burning  desert,  to 
have  had  him  as  the  companion  of  her  dreams,  — 
what  could  offer  to  such  a  woman  a  greater  prospect 
of  amusement? 

No  man  ever  more  distinctly  expressed  his  character 
in  his  person  than  Armand  de  Montriveau,  or  challenged 
more  inevitably  the  thoughts  of  others.  His  head, 
which  was  large  and  square,  had  the  characteristic  trait 
of  an  abundant  mass  of  black  hair,  which  surrounded 
his  face  in  a  way  that  recalled  General  Kléber,  whom 
indeed  he  otherwise  resembled  by  the  vigor  of  his  bear- 
ing, the  shape  of  his  face,  the  tranquil  courage  of  his 
eye,  and  the  expression  of  inward  ardor  which  shone 
out  through  his  strong  features.  He  was  of  medium 
height,  broad  in  the  chest,  and  muscular  as  a  lion. 
When  he  walked,  his  carriage,  his  step,  his  least  ges- 
ture bespoke  a  consciousness  of  power  which  was  im- 
posing ;  there  was  something  even  despotic  about  it. 
He  seemed  aware  that  nothing  could  oppose  his  will  ; 
possibly  because  he  willed  only  that  which  was  right. 
Nevertheless  he  was — like  all  men  really  strong — gentle 
in  speech,  simple  in  manner,  and  naturally  kind.  Occa« 
sionally  these  finer  qualities  disappeared  under  certain 


432 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


circumstances,  and  then  the  man  within  became  impla- 
cable in  his  feelings,  fixed  in  his  resolves,  terrible  in  his 
actions  ;  and  an  observer  would  have  seen  at  the  closing 
line  of  his  lips  a  curve  which  betrayed  his  disposition  to 
irony. 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais.  433 


vn. 

The  Duchesse  de  Langeais,  knowing  the  passing 
value  of  such  a  conquest,  resolved,  during  the  few 
moments  that  Madame  de  Maufrigneuse  took  to  bring 
him  up  for  presentation,  to  make  this  man  one  of  her 
lovers  and  give  him  precedence  over  all  the  rest  ;  to  at- 
tach him  to  her  suite,  and  charm  him  with  all  her  coquet- 
ries. It  was  a  caprice,  —  the  pure  whim  of  a  duchess, 
such  as  Calderon  or  Lope  de  la  Vega  might  have  pic- 
tured. She  resolved  that  this  man  should  belong  to  no 
other  woman,  but  she  never  for  a  moment  dreamed  of 
belonging  to  him. 

Madame  de  Langeais  had  by  nature  the  gift  of 
charm,  and  her  education  had  perfected  it.  Women 
envied  her,  and  men  loved  her.  Nothing  was  lacking 
in  her  to  inspire  love  ;  neither  that  which  justified  it, 
nor  that  which  perpetuated  it.  Her  style  of  beauty 
and  her  manners,  her  ways  of  speaking  and  her  atti- 
tudes, all  combined  to  give  her  the  grace  of  natural 
attraction,  which  seemed  in  her  to  be  the  conscience  of 
her  power.  Her  figure  was  well  made,  and  had  an  easy 
movement  and  change  of  attitude,  — which  was,  indeed, 
her  only  affectation.  Everything  about  her  was  in  har- 
mony, from  the  least  little  gesture  to  the  special  turn  of 
her  phrases  and  the  charming  hypocrisy  with  which  she 
bestowed  her  smiles.  The  predominant  character  of 
her  countenance  was  a  gracious  and  elegant  noblenessj 

28 


434 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais, 


which  was  not  lessened  by  the  mobility,  altogether 
French,  of  her  movements.  These  ever-changing  atti- 
tudes had  an  infinite  charm  for  men.  Indeed,  the  germs 
of  all  the  joys  of  love  were  in  the  freedom  of  her  ex- 
pressive glance,  in  the  caressing  tones  of  her  voice,  and 
the  quiet  grace  of  her  language.  Whoever  passed  an 
evening  beside  her  found  her  flitting  from  grave  to  gay, 
yet  with  no  pretended  gayety  or  gravity.  She  could 
be,  at  will,  courteous,  contemptuous,  sarcastic,  or  con- 
fiding. She  seemed  kind,  and  really  was  so  ;  for  in  her 
position  she  was  seldom  tempted  to  be  unamiable. 
There  were  days  when  she  showed  herself  by  turns 
trustful  and  distrustful,  tender  to  emotion,  then  hard 
and  chilling  to  the  heart.  But  to  paint  her,  must  I  not 
gather  together  ever}T  feminine  antithesis  ?  In  a  word, 
she  was  everything  she  wished  to  be  or  to  seem.  Her 
face,  which  was  perhaps  a  trifle  too  long,  had  an  infi- 
nite grace  ;  something  spiritual  and  slender  about  it 
recalled  the  faces  of  the  Middle  Ages,  and  the  skin  was 
pale  with  delicate  rose-tints  :  indeed,  if  she  had  a  fault, 
it  came  through  excess  of  delicacy. 

Monsieur  de  Montriveau  allowed  himself  very  will- 
ingly to  be  presented  to  the  Duchesse  de  Langeais,  and 
she,  with  the  exquisite  tact  that  avoids  commonplace, 
received  him  without  questions  or  compliments,  but  with 
a  certain  respectful  grace  meant  to  flatter  a  superior 
man  ;  for  superiority  in  a  man  implies  the  tact  that  can 
penetrate  the  real  sentiments  of  a  woman.  If  she 
showed  curiosity,  it  was  only  by  her  glance  ;  if  she 
flattered,  it  was  only  by  her  manner;  and  she  plaj'ed 
the  pretty  tricks  of  speech  with  a  delicate  desire  to 
please  which  no  one  knew  better  how  to  show.  But 


Tlie  Duchesse  de  Langeais.  435 

the  whole  conversation  was,  in  reality,  only  the  body 
of  the  letter  ;  there  was  to  be  a  postscript,  where  the 
real  thought  was  uttered.  When  therefore  at  the  end 
of  half  an  hour's  chat,  in  which  tones  and  smiles  alone 
had  any  value,  Monsieur  de  Montriveau  prepared  dis- 
creetly to  withdraw,  the  duchess  retained  him  by  a 
gesture. 

"Monsieur,"  she  said,  "I  hardly  know  if  the  few 
moments  in  which  I  have  had  the  pleasure  of  conversing 
with  you  have  offered  you  sufficient  attraction  to  justify 
me  in  asking  you  to  come  and  see  me  at  home.  I  am 
afraid  there  is  much  egotism  in  my  desire  to  draw  3'ou 
there  ;  but  if  I  have  been  so  happy  as  to  make  the  pros- 
pect agreeable  to  you,  you  will  always  find  me  in  the 
evening  until  ten  o'clock." 

These  words  were  said  in  so  caressing  a  tone  that 
Monsieur  de  Montriveau  could  do  no  less  than  accept  the 
invitation.  When  he  fell  back  into  the  group  of  men  who 
stood  at  some  distance  from  the  women,  several  of  his 
friends  congratulated  him  —  half  in  jest,  half  in  earnest  — 
on  the  unusual  welcome  the  duchess  had  accorded  him. 
The  difficult  and  illustrious  conquest  they  declared  was 
undoubtedly  made,  and  the  gloiy  thereof  had  fallen  to 
the  artillery  of  the  Guard.  It  is  easy  to  guess  the 
good  and  evil  jests  which  the  topic,  once  launched, 
suggested  to  that  idle  world  of  Paris  which  loves  to 
amuse  itself,  and  whose  amusements  are  so  ephemeral 
that  each  individual  hastens  to  pluck  the  flower  while  it 
blooms. 

This  nonsense  flattered  the  general  unconsciously. 
From  the  place  where  he  stationed  himself  his  eyes 
were  drawn  to  the  duchess  by  many  confused  impulses 


436 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


He  could  not  help  admitting  to  himself  that  of  all  the 
women  whose  beauty  had  caught  his  eye  none  had  ever 
shone  for  him  with  such  delightful  mingling  of  virtues 
and  defects,  —  a  harmony  which  the  youth  of  France 
most  desires  in  a  mistress.  Is  there  a  man,  no  matter 
in  what  rank  his  fate  has  placed  him,  who  has  not  felt 
the  indefinable  joy  of  finding  in  the  woman  he  chooses 
for  his  own,  —  though  his  choice  be  but  a  dream,  — 
the  triple  moral,  physical,  and  social  perfection  which 
allows  him  to  see  in  her  the  accomplishment  of  his 
every  wish?  If  it  is  not  the  cause  of  love,  this  delight- 
ful union  of  qualities  is  assuredly  the  finest  medium  of 
all  feeling.  "Without  vanity,"  said  a  great  moralist 
of  the  last  century,  "love  is  convalescence."  There  is 
undoubtedly  for  a  man,  even  more  than  for  a  woman,  a 
treasure-house  of  delight  in  the  superiority  of  the  being 
beloved.  Is  it  not  much,  perhaps  all,  to  feel  that  our 
self-love  can  never  be  wounded  through  her  deficiencies  ; 
that  she  is  too  noble  to  be  cut  b}T  the  keen  glances  of  a 
contemptuous  eye,  sufficiently  wealthy  to  be  lapped  in 
splendors  equal  to  those  of  the  ephemeral  sovereigns 
of  finance,  and  beautiful  enough  to  be  the  rival  of  all 
her  sex? 

Such  reflections  as  these  a  man  makes  in  the  twink- 
ling of  an  eye  ;  but  if  the  woman  who  inspires  them 
offers  him  at  the  same  time,  for  the  future  of  his  sudden 
passion,  the  changing  charms  of  grace,  the  ingenuous- 
ness of  a  virgin  soul,  the  thousand  folds  and  lines  of 
coquettish  allurement,  and  all  the  perils  of  love,  will 
not  the  coldest  heart  of  man  be  stirred  ?  Monsieur  de 
Montriveau's  peculiar  relation  to  woman  could  have  been 
rendered  possible  only  by  the  circumstances  of  his  past 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


437 


fife.  Thrown  young  into  the  tempest  of  the  French 
wars,  having  always  lived  on  fields  of  battle,  he  knew 
women  only  as  a  hurried  traveller  passing  from  inn  to 
inn  knows  of  the  countries  through  which  he  travels. 
Perhaps  he  might  have  said  of  his  life  as  Voltaire  at  the 
age  of  eighty  said  of  his  ;  and  had  he  not  thirty-seven 
follies  with  which  to  reproach  himself?  He  was,  at  his 
age,  as  new  to  love  as  the  young  man  who  reads  Faublas 
in  secret.  Of  woman  he  knew  all,  but  of  love  he  knew 
nothing  ;  and  this  virginity  of  spirit  gave  birth  to  desires 
which  had  the  freshness  of  3Touth.  Some  men  withheld  by 
labors  to  which  they  are  condemned  either  by  poverty  or 
ambition,  as  Montriveau  had  been  restrained  by  the  for- 
tunes of  war  and  the  events  of  his  subsequent  life,  have 
known  the  same  situation,  though  they  seldom  avow  it- 
In  Paris  every  man  is  supposed  to  have  loved  ;  indeed, 
no  woman  desires  him  for  whom  no  other  women  have 
sighed.  From  the  fear  of  being  thought  a  fool  in  this  re- 
spect come  the  foppish  lies  so  often  told  in  Paris,  where  to 
be  a  fool  means  to  be  an  alien  in  that  accomplished  world. 

Monsieur  de  Montriveau  was  in  the  clutches  of  a 
passionate  desire,  deepened  by  his  long  loneliness  in 
the  desert;  and  his  heart  swelled  with  an  emotion  of 
which  until  now  he  had  never  felt  the  strait .  But,  firm 
as  he  was  passionate,  he  controlled  his  feelings,  although 
while  talking  with  apparent  indifference  to  his  friends 
he  withdrew  into  his  own  mind,  and  swore  to  himself 
that  he  would  win  that  woman.  The  desire  became  an 
oath  after  the  manner  of  the  Arabs,  among  whom  he 
had  lived,  and  to  whom  an  oath  is  a  contract  made  be- 
tween destiny  and  their  souls,  which  they  stake  on  the 
success  of  the  enterprise  consecrated  by  their  oath,  — • 
counting  death  itself  as  one  chance  the  more  of  success 


438 


The  Tuckesse  de  Langeais. 


A  3'oung  man  would  have  said,  u  I  should  like  to  win 
the  Duchesse  de  Langeais,"  or,  "  The  man  the  Duchesse 
de  Langeais  loves  will  be  a  happy  fellow  ;  "  but  Montri- 
veau said,  "I  shall  win  Madame  de  Langeais."  When 
a  man,  virgin  in  heart  and  for  whom  love  is  a  religion, 
admits  such  a  thought,  he  does  not  know  the  hell  into 
which  he  sets  his  foot. 

The  general  left  the  salon  abruptly,  and  went  home 
quivering  with  the  pulsings  of  his  first  fever  of  love. 
If  towards  middle  age  a  man  retains  his  beliefs  and 
his  illusions,  and  the  sincerity  and  impetuosity  of  }'outh, 
his  first  movement  is  to  put  forth  his  hand  and  seize  the 
object  >f  his  desire.  But  when  he  has  measured  the 
distance  which  separates  him  from  it,  a  distance  nearly 
impossible  to  cross,  he  falls,  like  the  children,  into  a 
sort  of  impatient  wonder,  which  gives  new  value  to  the 
thing  desired.  Therefore  on  the  morrow,  after  stormy 
reflections  which  ploughed  up  his  mind,  Armand  de 
Montriveau  knew  himself  to  be  under  the  dominion  of 
a  true  love.  The  woman  he  had  cavalierly  declared 
should  be  his  the  night  before  had  now  become  to  him 
a  sacred  and  imposing  power  :  she  was  destined  thence- 
forth to  be  to  him  the  whole  of  life  and  the  world.  The 
mere  recollection  of  the  emotion  she  had  caused  him 
thrilled  him  more  than  the  keenest  joys  or  pains  of 
his  past  life.  Revolutions  trouble  only  the  interests 
of  mankind,  but  one  passion  can  uproot  every  other 
feeling  in  the  heart  of  a  man.  For  those  who  live 
b}-  feelings  rather  than  by  interests,  who  have  more 
heart  and  blood  than  mind  and  lymph,  a  true  love 
will  change  the  whole  course  of  existence.  With 
one  thought,  at  one  stroke,  Armand  de  Montriveau 
effaced  his  past  life. 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


439 


After  asking  himself  twenty  times,  like  a  child, 
£i  Shall  I  go?  —  shall  I  not  go?  "  he  dressed  and  went 
to  the  Hôtel  de  Langeais  about  eight  in  the  evening,  and 
was  admitted  to  the  presence  of  the  woman  —  no,  not 
the  woman,  the  idol  he  had  seen  the  night  before  under 
the  blaze  of  lights,  fresh  and  pure  as  a  young  girl, 
dressed  in  gauzy  veils  and  laces.  He  entered  impetu- 
ously, resolved  to  declare  his  love  as  he  would  have 
brought  up  his  cannon  on  the  battle-field.  Poor  neo- 
phyte !  he  found  his  nebulous  sylphide  swathed  in  a 
wrapper  of  brown  cashmere  of  much  amplitude,  lan- 
guidly lying  upon  a  divan  in  a  dark  boudoir.  Madame 
de  Langeais  did  not  rise,  and  only  showed  her  head, 
with  the  hair  somewhat  in  disorder  and  covered  by  a 
veil.  TTith  a  hand  which  in  the  faint  light  of  one  wax 
candle  placed  at  a  distance  seemed  to  the  eyes  of  Mon- 
triveau  white  as  marble,  the  duchess  made  him  a  sign 
to  be  seated,  and  said  in  a  voice  as  faint  as  the  light,  — 

"  If  it  were  any  one  but  you,  Monsieur  le  marquis,  — 
if  it  had  been  a  friend  with  whom  I  could  take  a  liberty, 
or  some  one  in  whom  I  feel  no  interest,  I  should  have 
sent  him  away.    You  find  me  suffering  terribly." 

Armand  said  to  himself:  "  I  must  go." 

"  But,"  she  added,  with  a  glance  which  the  ingenuous 
soldier  attributed  to  fever,  "  I  hardly  know  if  it  can  be 
from  a  presentiment  of  your  visit,  —  for  the  promptness 
of  which  I  must  truly  thank  you,  —  but  for  the  last  few 
moments  my  head  feels  better." 

" 1  may  remain?"  asked  Armand. 

"  Ah,  I  should  be  sorry  indeed  to  have  you  go.  Ï 
said  to  myself  this  morning  that  I  could  scarcely  have 
made  any  impression  upon  you;  that  you  had  doubts 


440 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais, 


less  taken  my  invitation  for  one  of  those  meaningless 
phrases  for  which  Parisian  women  are  celebrated.  There- 
fore I  pardoned,  by  anticipation,  your  absence.  A  man 
who  comes  from  the  desert  is  not  expected  to  know 
how  exclusive  our  faubourg  is  in  its  friendships." 

These  gracious  words,  half  murmured,  fell  from  her 
lips  slowly,  as  if  each  were  freighted  with  the  pleased 
feeling  that  appeared  to  dictate  them.  The  duchess, 
bent  on  making  the  most  of  her  headache,  succeeded 
admirably.  The  poor  soldier  suffered  really  from  the 
pretended  suffering  of  his  divinit}'.  Ah,  how  could 
he  speak  to  her  now  of  his  love?  Armand  began  to 
perceive  that  it  would  be  folly  indeed  to  fling  it  in 
the  face  of  such  a  being  as  this.  He  caught  up,  as  it 
were  by  one  thought,  all  the  niceties  of  feeling  and  the 
exigencies  of  a  delicate  soul.  To  love  ?  —  was  it  not  to 
plead,  to  crave,  to  wait?  If  he  felt  this  love,  must 
he  not  prove  it?  Thus  he  found  himself  silenced, 
chilled,  by  the  proprieties  of  the  noble  faubourg,  by 
the  majestic  weakness  of  this  headache,  and,  more 
than  all,  by  the  timidity  of  a  genuine  love.  But  no 
power  on  earth  could  have  quenched  the  glance  of 
his  eyes,  which  blazed  with  the  fire  of  his  love  and  of 
the  desert,  —  eyes  which  burned  stilly  like  those  of  a 
panther,  and  over  which  the  lids  rarely  fell.  She  liked 
these  fixed  looks,  which  bathed  her  in  light  and  love. 

"Madame  la  duchesse,"  he  answered,  UI  fear  that 
I  shall  ill  express  my  gratitude  for  yom  goodness.  At 
this  moment  I  have  but  one  thought,  —  the  wish  to  re- 
lieve your  sufferings." 

"  Permit  me  to  get  rid  of  this  thing,  it  is  too  warm," 
she  said,  throwing  off  by  a  movement  full  of  grace  the 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais.  441 

covering  that  had  lain  upon  her  feet,  which  were  now 
disclosed  to  view. 

u  Madame,  in  Asia  your  feet  would  be  valued  at  ten 
thousand  sequins." 

"  A  traveller's  flattery  !  "  she  said,  smiling. 

This  bright  and  clever  creature  now  took  delight  in 
drawing  the  grave  Montriveau  through  a  conversation 
full  of  trifling  and  commonplace  nonsense,  where  he 
manoeuvred,  in  military  parlance,  like  Prince  Charles 
when  pitted  against  the  genius  of  Napoleon.  She 
amused  herself  maliciously  by  reconnoitring  the  lines 
of  the  new  passion,  shown  by  the  number  of  silly 
remarks  which  she  wrested  from  her  neoplryte,  as  she 
led  him  step  by  step  into  a  labyrinth  where  she  in- 
tended to  leave  him  very  much  ashamed  of  himself. 
She  began  the  advance  therefore  by  laughing  at  him,  — 
all  the  while  trying  to  make  him  forget  the  time.  The 
length  of  a  first  visit  is  often  a  flattery  ;  but  as  to 
this,  Armand  was  not  her  accomplice.  The  great  trav- 
eller had  been  only  an  hour  in  the  boudoir,  talking  of 
everything  and  saying  nothing,  aware  that  he  was  an 
instrument  in  the  hands  of  this  woman  who  was  playing 
upon  him,  when  she  suddenly  sat  up,  slipped  the  veil 
from  her  head  to  her  throat,  did  him  the  honor  of  a 
complete  recovery,  and  rang  for  lights.  To  the  abso- 
lute inaction  in  which  she  had  been  lying  succeeded 
movements  full  of  grace. 

She  turned  to  Monsieur  de  Montriveau  and  said,  in 
reply  to  a  confidence  she  had  just  maliciously  wrung 
from  him  and  which  appeared  to  interest  her  much  : 
44  You  are  laughing  at  me  when  }tou  try  to  make  me 
think  that  you  have  never  loved.    That  is  a  favorite 


442 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


pretence  of  men.  We  believe  it  ?  Ah,  pure  civility  !  Do 
you  think  we  cannot  judge  you  for  ourselves  ?  Where 
is  the  man  who  never  in  his  life  has  found  occasion  to 
be  in  love  ?  But  you  all  delight  in  deceiving  us  ;  and 
we  let  you  do  it  —  silly  fools  that  we  are  !  —  because 
your  deceptions  are  an  homage  paid  to  the  superiority 
of  our  sentiments,  which  are  alwa}-s  pure." 

The  last  sentence  was  uttered  in  a  tone  of  pride  and 
distant  dignit}T,  which  converted  the  hapless  novice  of 
love  into  a  ball  flung  down  through  an  abj-ss,  and  the 
duchess  into  an  angel  floating  upward  to  her  own 
particular  sphere. 

"The  devil!  "  cried  Armand  de  Montriveau,  within 
his  soul,  "  how  shall  I  ever  tell  this  beautiful,  far-off 
being  that  I  love  her  ?  " 

He  had  already  told  her  so  twenty  times,  or  rather 
the  duchess  had  twenty  times  read  it  in  his  eyes,  and 
perceived  in  this  genuine  passion  of  a  truly  great  man  a 
keen  amusement  for  herself  and  an  interest  in  a  life  hith- 
erto devoid  of  interests.  She  therefore  made  ready  to 
throw  up  a  succession  of  redoubts,  which  he  should  be 
forced  to  carry  before  he  was  permitted  to  approach  the 
citadel  of  her  heart.  Plaj-thing  of  her  caprices,  Montri- 
veau was  to  be  kept  stationary,  all  the  while  surmounting 
obstacle  after  obstacle,  —  as  an  insect  is  tormented  by 
children  who  make  it  jump  from  finger  to  finger  think- 
ing it  is  getting  away,  while  its  mischievous  little  cap- 
tors keep  it  to  the  same  place. 

For  all  this,  the  duchess  felt  in  her  heart  with 
joy  that  this  man  of  worth  and  character  had  spoken 
the  truth.  It  was  true  that  Monsieur  de  Montriveau 
had  never  loved.     He  prepared  to  take  his  leave 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais, 


443 


discontented  with  himself,  still  more  discontented  with 
her  ;  and  she  saw  with  delight  an  ill-humor  which  she 
could  dissipate  with  a  word,  a  look,  or  a  gesture. 

"  Will  you  come  to-morrow  evening?  "  she  said.  "I 
am  going  to  a  ball,  and  I  shall  expect  you  up  to  ten 
o'clock." 


444  The  Duchesse  de  Langeais* 


VIII 

The  next  day  was  spent  by  Montriveau  chiefly  in 

gazing  out  of  the  window  of  his  study,  and  in  con- 
suming an  indefinite  number  of  cigars.  In  no  other 
way  did  he  seem  able  to  kill  the  time  until  he  could 
dress  and  go  to  the  Hôtel  de  Langeais.  To  those  who 
knew  the  noble  worth  of  this  man,  it  would  have  been 
pitiful  to  see  him  thus  belittled,  thus  agitated,  and  to 
feel  that  a  mind  whose  qualities  had  done  work  for  the 
world  was  now  contracted  to  the  limits  of  a  lady's 
boudoir.  But  he  felt  his  happiness  so  involved,  that 
to  save  his  life  he  would  not  have  confided  his  love 
even  to  a  friend.  Is  there  not  alwa}'s  some  sense  of 
shame  in  the  modesty  which  takes  possession  of  a  man 
when  he  loves  ;  aud  does  not  this  shame  form  a  part 
^f  the  woman's  triumph  ;  and  is  it  not  among  the 
joany  reasons  never  explained  to  themselves  which 
îead  women  to  be  the  first,  usually,  to  betray  the  se- 
crets of  their  love, — when  the  secresy,  we  ma}'  add, 
has  become  a  burden  to  them? 

"Monsieur,"  said  the  footman,  "Madame  la  du- 
chesse is  not  yet  visible.  She  is  dressing,  and  begs  you 
to  wait  for  her." 

Armand  walked  about  the  room  charmed  with  the 
taste  displayed  in  all  its  details.  He  admired  Madame 
de  Langeais  in  admiring  the  things  which  were  hers, 
and  which  betrayed  her  habits,  even  before  he  saw 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais.  445 

their  real  merits.  After  making  him  wait  an  hour,  the 
duchess  came  from  her  bedroom  softly,  without  noise. 
Montriveau  turned,  and  quivered  as  he  saw  her  gliding 
forward  like  a  shadow.  She  came  to  him  without  saying, 
as  a  woman  of  less  breeding  might  have  done,  "Do 
you  like  my  dress  ?  "  She  was  sure  of  that  ;  but  her 
glance  said,  "I  have  dressed  to  please  you." 

The  fairy  godmother  of  some  hidden  princess  could 
alone  have  wound  about  the  throat  of  this  charming 
creature  the  cloud  of  gauze  whose  folds  held  tints  that 
threw  into  relief  the  lustre  of  her  transparent  skin. 
The  duchess  was  dazzling.  The  delicate  blue  of  her 
gown,  whose  garlands  were  the  same  as  the  flowers  in 
her  hair,  gave  substance  by  its  color  to  the  fragile 
figure  which  seemed  to  be  aerial  in  its  motion  ;  for  Ma- 
dame de  Langeais,  gliding  rapidly  towards  Armand, 
let  the  ends  of  her  scarf  float  behind  her,  so  that  our 
gallant  soldier  compared  her  in  his  thoughts  to  those 
beautiful  blue  insects  which  hover  above  the  waters 
and  among  the  flowers,  with  whose  azure  tints  they 
blend  and  disappear. 

"  I  have  made  you  wait,"  she  said,  in  the  voice  wo- 
men take  towards  men  whom  they  wish  to  please. 

44 1  would  have  waited  an  eternity  to  find  so  lovely 
a  divinity.  But  it  is  no  compliment  to  speak  to  you 
of  your  beauty  ;  you  can  accept  nothing  less  than 
adoration.    Will  3-011  suffer  me  to  kiss  your  scarf  ?  n 

"  Ah,  no  !  "  she  said  with  a  proud  gesture,  44 1  esteem 
you  enough  to  offer  you  my  hand,"  and  she  held  it  out 
to  him  still  moist  and  perfumed. 

The  hand  of  a  woman  at  the  moment  when  she 
comes  from  her  bath  retains  I  know  not  what  of  dewy 


446  The  Duchesse  de  Langeais, 


freshness  and  softened  texture,  which  sends  a  delicious 
tingling  from  the  lips  to  the  soul. 

''Will  3*011  always  give  it  to  me  thus?"  said  the 
general,  humbly  kissing  that  dangerous  hand. 

"  Yes  ;  but  we  will  go  no  farther,"  she  said  smiling. 

She  sat  down,  and  seemed  to  find  difficulty  in  putting 
on  her  gloves,  and  in  slipping  the  kid  along  her  slender 
fingers;  looking  from  time  to  time  at  Monsieur  de 
Montriveau,  who  was  admiring  alternately  the  duchess 
and  the  grace  of  her  reiterated  gesture. 

"Ah,  this  is  delightful!"  she  said.  "You  are 
so  punctual!  I  love  punctuality.  His  Majesty  calls 
it  the  politeness  of  kings,  but  for  my  part  I  accept 
it  as  the  most  respectful  of  flatteries.  Don't  you 
think  it  is?" 

She  threw  him  a  glance  of  specious  friendliness  when 
she  saw  that  he  was  mute  with  pleasure  and  positively 
happy  in  such  mere  nothings.  Ah,  Madame  de  Lan- 
geais knew  her  business  as  a  woman  !  She  knew  well 
how  to  raise  a  man  up  when  his  love  was  lowering  to  his 
pride  ;  how  to  reward  him  by  hollow  flattery  for  every 
step  he  took  downward  into  the  follies  of  sentimentality. 

"  You  will  never  forget  to  come  at  nine  o'clock?" 

"  Oh,  no  !  But  do  you  go  to  a  ball  every  night?" 

"How  can  I  tell?"  she  answered,  shrugging  her 
shoulders  with  a  childish  gesture  that  seemed  to  say 
she  was  all  caprice,  and  that  a  lover  must  take  her  as 
he  found  her. 

"Besides,"  she  added,  "it  cannot  signify  to  you; 
you  shall  take  me  to  the  ball." 

"  To-night,"  he  said,  "  it  would  be  difficult  ;  for  I  am 
not  suitably  dressed." 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais.  447 


*  It  seems  to  me,"  she  observed,  looking  haughtily 
at  him,  44  that  if  any  one  can  object  to  your  dress  it 
is  I.  You  should  know,  Monsieur  le  voyageur,  that 
the  man  whose  arm  I  accept  is  above  fashion,  and 
that  no  one  will  dare  to  criticise  him.  I  see  that  you 
don't  know  the  world  ;  and  I  like  you  the  better  for 
it." 

She  was  dragging  him  all  the  while  into  the  puerilities 
of  the  world,  and  instructing  him  as  to  the  vanities  of 
a  woman  of  fashion. 

4k  If  she  chooses  to  commit  a  folly  for  me,"  said 
Armand  to  himself,  4  4 1  should  be  a  great  fool  to  pre- 
vent her.  If  she  does,  it  certainly  must  mean  that  she 
loves  me.  I  know  she  can't  despise  the  world  more 
than  I  do;  so  I  am  ready  for  the  ball." 

The  duchess  was  thinking  that  when  people  saw  the 
general  following  her  in  boots  and  a  black  cravat,  they 
would  not  hesitate  to  proclaim  him  passionately  in  love 
with  her.  Montriveau,  on  the  other  hand,  delighted  to 
believe  that  the  queen  of  elegant  society  was  willing  to 
compromise  herself  for  him,  found  his  wit  rising  with 
his  hopes.  Conscious  that  he  pleased,  he  began  to  ex- 
press real  ideas  and  feelings,  and  lost  the  constraint  that 
held  him  down  the  night  before.  This  genuine  conver- 
sation, solid,  animated,  and  filled  with  confidences  as 
agreeable  to  hear  as  to  utter,  did  it  really  charm  Mad- 
ame de  Langeais,  or  had  she  planned  it  with  delightful 
coquet^?  Certain  it  is  that  she  glanced  mischievously 
at  the  clock  when  it  struck  midnight. 

14  Ah!  you  have  made  me  lose  the  ball,"  she  ex- 
claimed with  an  air  of  surprise  and  vexation.  Then 
she  smiled  softly  to  herself,  as  if  admitting  the  exchange 


448 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


of  pleasures,  in  a  way  that  caused  the  soldier's  heart 
to  bound. 

"  I  had  promised  Madame  de  Beauséant,"  she  said  ; 
"  they  are  all  expecting  me." 
"Well,  then,  go." 

"No,"  she  said,  "I  shall  stay  at  home.  Your 
adventures  in  the  East  are  delightful.  Tell  me  the 
whole  of  your  life  there.  I  love  to  share  the  suf- 
ferings of  a  brave  man, — for  I  do  feel  them,  truly." 
She  played  with  her  scarf,  twisting  it  and  tearing 
it  by  hasty,  impatient  movements,  which  seemed 
co  express  some  inward  dissatisfaction  and  serious 
thought. 

"  Women  are  worth  nothing  !  "  she  exclaimed.  "Ah, 
we  are  unworthy  beings,  selfish,  frivolous  !  All  we 
know  is  how  to  be  bored  by  amusements.  In  the 
olden  time  women  were  beneficent  lights  :  they  lived 
to  comfort  those  who  wept,  to  encourage  great  vir- 
tues, to  reward  artists  and  inspire  their  work  with 
noble  thoughts.  If  the  world  has  grown  small,  the 
fault  is  ours.  You  make  me  hate  the  life  of  balls 
and  amusements.  Ah,  I  have  sacrificed  very  little 
to  you  to-night  !  "  She  ended  by  destroying  the  scarf, 
as  a  child  playing  with  a  flower  tears  off  petal  after 
petal;  then  rolling  it  up,  disclosing  her  white  and 
flexible  throat,  she  threw  it  from  her  and  rang  the 
bell. 

"  I  shall  not  go  out,"  she  said  to  the  footman.  Then 
she  turned  her  long  blue  eyes  timidly  on  Armand,  that 
he  might  guess  from  the  fear  they  seemed  to  express 
that  this  order  was  an  avowal  of  feeling,  —  a  first  and 
great  favor, 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


449 


"  You  have  had  many  griefs,"  she  said,  after  a  pause 
full  of  thought,  and  with  that  tenderness  women  often 
put  into  their  voices  when  it  is  not  in  their  hearts. 

1  '  No,"  answered  Armand  ;  "for  until  to-day  I  never 
knew  happiness." 

"  You  know  it,  then?"  she  said,  looking  at  him  from 
beneath  her  lashes  with  seductive  hypocrisy. 

"  My  future  happiness,"  he  replied,  "  must  it  not  be 
in  seeing  you,  in  listening  to  you?  Till  now  I  have 
only  suffered  pain  ;  henceforth  I  may  have  to  endure 
miseiw." 

"Ah,  enough,  enough!"  she  cried.  "Now,  go;  it 
is  past  midnight.  Respect  the  proprieties.  I  did  not 
go  to  the  ball,  but  you.  were  there,  remember.  Do  not 
let  us  give  occasion  for  gossip.  Adieu.  I  don't  yet 
know  what  excuse  I  shall  give  ;  but  a  headache  is  a 
good  friend  that  never  contradicts  us." 

"  Is  there  a  ball  to-morrow  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  You  will  get  accustomed  to  them,"  she  said,  laugh- 
ing. "Well,  yes;  to-morrow  we  will  go  to  another 
baH." 

Armand  went  away  the  happiest  man  on  earth,  and 
returned  every  evening  to  Madame  de  Langeais  at  the 
hour  when  it  was  tacitly  understood  he  was  expected. 
It  would  be  irksome,  and  to  young  people  who  have 
many  such  recollections  superfluous,  to  let  our  story 
advance  step  by  step  as  the  poem  of  this  intercourse 
flowed  on,  its  course  checked  or  widened  at  the  pleasure 
of  the  duchess  by  a  dispute  of  words  when  the  senti- 
ment went  too  far,  or  by  complaint  of  the  sentiment 
when  words  would  not  answer  to  her  thought.  But 
to  mark  the  progress  of  our  Penelope's  web,  perhaps 

29 


450 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


we  ought  to  show  what  material  gains  the  sentiment 
was  allowed  to  make. 

A  few  days  after  the  first  meeting  of  the  duchess  and 
Armand  de  Mon  tri  veau  the  devoted  soldier  had  con- 
quered, with  all  propriety,  the  right  to  kiss  the  hands  of 
his  insatiable  mistress.  Wherever  Madame  de  Langeais 
appeared,  Monsieur  de  Montriveau  followed  in  attend- 
ance ;  so  that  people  called  him  in  jest  '  '  the  banner  of 
the  duchess."  This  position  soon  brought  him  envy, 
jealousy,  and  much  ill-will.  The  duchess  had  attained 
her  object  ;  the  marquis  was  drawn  in  the  train  of  her 
admirers,  and  she  was  able  to  humiliate  those  who  had 
boasted  of  her  good  graces  by  publicly  ranking  him 
above  them  all. 

"Decidedly,"  said  Madame  de  Sériz}^,  "  Monsieur  de 
Montriveau  is  the  man  whom  the  duchess  distinguishes." 

To  be  distinguished  by  a  woman  means  in  Paris  but 
one  thing  ;  and  the  stories  told  of  the  general's  prowess 
rendered  him  so  formidable  that  his  younger  rivals 
abandoned  all  pretensions  to  the  duchess,  and  only  con. 
tinued  to  revolve  in  her  sphere  that  they  might  make 
the  most  of  the  importance  it  gave  them,  or  use  her 
name  and  notice  to  advance  negotiations  with  stars  of  a 
lesser  magnitude,  who  were  delighted  to  snatch  adorers 
from  Madame  de  Langeais.  The  duchess,  whose  per- 
spicacity noticed  all  these  desertions  and  treaties,  was 
not  their  dupe  ;  and  she  knew  well  —  as  Monsieur  de 
Talleyrand,  who  was  very  fond  of  her,  said  with  a  smile 
—  how  to  gather  an  aftermath  of  vengeance  with  a  two- 
edged  scoff  at  such  morganatic  espousals.  Her  disdain- 
ful satire  contributed  not  a  little  to  the  awe  she  inspired 
and  to  her  reputation  for  wit  ;  and  she  thus  strengthened 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais.  451 


her  character  for  virtue,  all  the  while  entertaining  her- 
self gaily  by  exposing  the  secrets  of  others. 

Nevertheless,  after  two  months  of  this  comedy  she 
began  to  feel  in  the  depths  of  her  heart  a  vague  fear 
as  she  saw  it  was  not  in  Montriveau's  nature  to  com- 
prehend the  craft  of  Faubourg  Saint-Germainesque  co- 
quetrjT,  and  that  he  took  all  her  proceedings  in  deep 
earnest. 

44  My  dear  duchess,"  the  old  Vidame  de  Pamiers  said 
to  her  one  evening,  '  '  your  friend  is  first  cousin  to  the 
eagles.  You  cannot  tame  him  ;  and  some  day,  if  you 
don't  take  care,  he  will  carry  you  off  to  his  eyrie." 


452 


The  Duchesse  de  Lcmi/eais. 


IX. 

The  day  after  the  worldly- wise  old  Vidame  had  made 
her  this  speech,  which  Madame  de  Langeais  feared  was 
only  too  prophetic,  she  began  in  earnest  an  attempt  to 
make  Armand  dislike  her,  and  became  hard,  exacting, 
nervous,  and  even  irritable  to  him,  —  a  measure  he  dis- 
armed by  treating  her  with  the  utmost  gentleness.  She 
knew  so  little  of  the  simple  goodness  of  noble  natures 
that  the  unselfish  pleasantries  with  which  at  first  he  met 
her  ill-humor  touched  and  surprised  her.  She  was  seek- 
ing a  quarrel,  and  found  only  fresh  proofs  of  affection. 
Nevertheless,  she  persisted. 

"  How  is  it  possible,"  said  Armand,  u  that  a  man  by 
whom  you  are  idolized  should  displease  you  ?  " 

"  You  don't  displease  me,"  she  said,  becoming  sud- 
denly sweet  and  submissive.  44  But  why  do  you  want 
to  compromise  me  ?  You  can  only  be  my  friend  :  you 
must  know  that.  I  should  like  to  find  in  3'ou  the  deli- 
cate instinct  of  true  friendship  ;  so  that  I  need  not  be 
forced  to  lose  either  }Tour  regard  or  the  pleasure  I  take 
in  our  intercourse." 

"Your  friend!  only  jTour  friend!"  exclaimed  Mon- 
sieur de  Montriveau,  to  whom  this  terrible  word  was 
like  an  electric  shock.  "  I,  who  have  rested  on  the  faith 
of  the  sweet  hours  you  have  granted  me  !  I,  who  have 
waked  to  life  since  I  feel  myself  within  your  heart! 
And  to-day,  without  motive,  without  reason,  you  take 


Tlie  Duchesse  de  Langeais.  453 


gratuitous  pleasure  in  killing  the  hope  by  which  I  live. 
After  pledging  me  such  constancy,  after  showing  such 
horror  at  women  who  have  mere  caprices,  do  you  mean 
to  tell  me  that  you  are  like  all  the  rest,  —  that  you  have 
passions  and  no  love  ?  Why  have  you  asked  of  me  my 
life  ?    Wh}r  have  you  accepted  it?  " 

"  I  have  done  wrong,  my  friend.  Yes,  a  woman 
does  wrong  when  she  yields  to  feelings  she  cannot, 
must  not  reward." 

''Ah,  I  understand!  You  have  only  been  a  little 
coquettish  and — " 

"Coquettish!  I  hate  coquetry.  To  be  a  coquette, 
Armand,  is  to  promise  oneself  to  a  dozen  men,  and  to 
give  oneself  to  none.  At  least  that  is  how  I  under- 
stand our  ethics.  But  to  try  to  please  others  ;  to  be  sad 
with  the  gloomy,  gay  with  the  thoughtless,  crafty  with 
the  politic  ;  to  listen  with  feigned  attention  to  chatterers  ; 
to  fight  battles  with  soldiers,  and  grow  passionate  for 
the  good  of  the  country  with  philanthropists  ;  to  give  to 
each  his  little  dose  of  flattery, —  why,  this  seems  to  me 
as  necessary  as  to  wear  flowers  in  my  hair,  or  diamonds, 
or  gloves,  or  clothes.  Such  things  are  the  mental  and 
moral  part  of  dress,  and  we  put  them  on  or  off  with  our 
feathers.  Surely  you  do  not  call  that  coquetry?  But  I 
have  never  treated  you  as  I  have  the  rest  of  the  world. 
With  you,  my  friend,  I  am  true.  I  have  not  always 
agreed  with  your  ideas  ;  but  when  after  long  discussions 
you  have  convinced  me,  who  has  been  happier  than  I? 
I  love  you  ;  but  only  as  a  pure  and  religious  woman 
should  love.  I  have  been  thinking  it  all  over.  I  am 
married,  Armand  ;  and  though  the  terms  on  which  I  live 
with  Monsieur  de  Langeais  leave  me  free  to  dispose  of 


454 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


my  heart  as  I  please,  3*et  I  can  go  no  farther  :  the  laws 
of  marriage,  and  the  conventions  of  societj-  forbid  it. 
In  whatever  rank  a  woman  is  placed,  if  she  offends  those 
laws  she  is  driven  from  society  ;  and  I  have  never  yet 
seen  the  man  who  could  understand  the  full  meaning  of 
that  sacrifice.  More  than  all,  the  break  which  everyone 
foresees  between  Madame  de  Beauséant  and  Monsieur 
d'Adjuda  only  shows  me  that  such  sacrifices  are,  in  many 
instances,  the  reason  why  men  abandon  us.  If  you  sin- 
cerely love  me,  you  will  cease  to  see  me  —  at  least  for  a 
time.  For  37our  sake  I  will  lay  aside  all  my  vanity.  Is 
that  nothing  ?  What  does  the  world  say  of  a  woman  to 
whom  no  man  is  attached  ?  —  that  she  has  no  heart,  no 
mind,  no  soul,  above  all,  no  charm.  Other  women  will 
give  me  no  credit  for  parting  with  you  ;  they  would  like 
to  tear  from  me  the  qualities  they  envy.  But  why 
should  I  care  for  the  contest  of  my  rivals  so  long  as 
my  reputation  is  intact? — they  certainly  can't  acquire 
that  !  My  friend,  give  something  to  one  who  sacrifices 
so  much  for  you.  Come  to  me  less  often,  and  I  will 
promise  not  to  love  you  less." 

"  Ah,"  replied  Montriveau,  with  the  sarcasm  of  a 
wounded  heart,  41  love,  according  to  scribblers,  is  fed 
on  illusions  !  Nothing  more  true  ;  I  see  it.  I  am  to 
imagine  mj'self  loved  !  But  let  me  tell  you  there  are 
thoughts,  like  wounds,  from  which  there  is  no  recover}-. 
You  were  my  last  belief:  I  see  in  you  that  all  things 
here  below  are  false." 

She  smiled. 

"  Yes,"  continued  Montriveau  in  an  altered  voice, 
41  your  Catholic  faith  to  which  you  have  tried  to  convert 
me  is  a  he  that  men  make  to  themselves.    What  is 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais.  455 


hope  but  a  lie?  Pity,  virtue,  fear,  are  lying  calcula- 
tions. My  happiness  is  to  be  a  lie,  is  it?  I  am  to 
cheat  myself,  and  consent  forever  to  give  my  gold  for 
silver?  If  you  can  so  easily  dispense  with  my  pres- 
ence, if  you.  will  acknowledge  me  neither  'for  your 
friend  nor  your  lover,  you  do  not  love  me  ;  and  I, 
poor  fool  !  can  say  that,  and  know  that,  and  yet  — 
I  love  you  !  " 

"  But,  my  poor  Armand,  you  are  angry." 

"Angry?  I!" 

"  Yes,  you  think  everything  is  at  an  end  because  Î 
ask  you  to  be  a  little  prudent." 

In  her  heart  she  was  enchanted  with  the  anger  that 
flashed  in  his  e}'es.  At  this  moment  she  was  torment- 
ing him,  but  at  the  same  time  she  judged  him,  and 
observed  every  change  in  his  countenance.  Had  the 
general  been  so  unlucky  as  to  be  generous  without 
discussion,  which  might  easily  have  happened  to  so 
candid  a  mind,  he  would  have  been  banished  forever, 
impeached  and  convicted  of  not  knowing  how  to  love. 
The  greater  part  of  womankind  like  to  feel  their  moral 
convictions  violated  :  is  it  not  one  of  their  flatteries 
to  yield  only  to  superior  force  ?  But  Armand  was  not 
wise  enough  to  perceive  the  net  the  duchess  had  spread 
for  him  :  strong  souls  that  love  are  children  still  ! 

"  If  you  only  wish  to  keep  up  appearances,"  he  said, 
artlessly,  "I  —  " 

"Keep  up  appearances  !"  she  cried,  interrupting  him. 
"  What  an  idea  you  have  of  me  !  Have  I  given  you  the 
smallest  reason  to  think  I  could  ever  be  yours  ?  " 

"  Good  heavens  !  then  what  are  we  talking  about?  J 
demanded  Montriveau. 


456  The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


"  Monsieur,  you  really  alarm  me.    No,  pardon  me. 

I  thank  you,  Armand,"  she  continued  in  a  freezing 
tone,  —  "I  thank  you  for  showing  me  in  time  my  impru- 
dence ;  believe  me,  an  involuntary  imprudence.  You 
say  you  suffer;  well,  I  will  learn  to  suffer.  We  will 
cease  to  see  each  other  ;  and  then,  when  we  have  recov- 
ered some  calmness,  —  well,  then  we  will  try  to  arrange 
for  ourselves  some  sort  of  happiness  approved  by  the 
world.  I  am  young,  Armand  ;  a  man  without  delicacy 
would  do  man}'  things  to  compromise  a  woman  of  twent}7- 
four.  But  you  !  you  will  always  be  my  friend  ?  —  prom- 
ise me." 

"  The  woman  of  twenty -four  is  old  enough  to  calcu- 
late," he  answered. 

He  sat  down  on  the  divan  and  held  his  head  between 
his  hands. 

"Madame,"  he  said,  lifting  his  head  and  showing  a 
face  full  of  resolution,  "do  you  love  me?  Answer 
boldty,  }Tes  or  no." 

The  duchess  was  more  frightened  by  this  question 
than  if  he  had  threatened  to  kill  himself, — a  vulgar 
trick,  which  does  not  alarm  women  of  the  nineteenth 
century  now  that  men  no  longer  wear  their  swords  by 
their  sides. 

"  Ah,"  she  said  ;  "  if  I  were  but  free,  I  —  " 
"Is  it  only  your  husband  that  is  in  the  wa}T?" 
cried  the  general  joj'fully,  getting  up  and  walking 
with  great  strides  up  and  down  the  room.  "My  dear 
Antoinette,  I  possess  a  more  absolute  power  than 
the  autocrat  of  all  the  Russias.  I  am  on  good  terms 
with  fate.  I  can,  socially  speaking,  move  it  at  m}r  will 
like  the  hands  of  a  watch.    To  guide  fate  in  out 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais.  457 


political  machine  we  have  only  to  study  the  mechan- 
ism. Give  yourself  no  concern  ;  in  a  short  time  you 
shall  be  free;  and  then  —  remember  your  promise." 

"  Armand  !  "  she  cried,  "what  do  you  mean?  Good 
God  !  surely  you  do  not  think  I  could  be  the  reward 
of  a  crime?  Do  you  seek  my  death?  Have  you  no 
religion?  For  myself,  I  fear  God.  Though  Monsieur 
de  Langeais  has  certainly  given  me  the  right  to  hate 
him,  I  wish  him  no  ill." 

Monsieur  de  Montriveau,  who  was  beating  tattoo  on 
the  chimney-piece  with  his  fingers,  contented  himself  by 
looking  at  the  duchess  with  a  calm  smile. 

"  My  friend,"  she  continued,  "respect  him.  He  does 
not  love  me  ;  he  is  not  mine  in  any  sense  ;  still  I  have  a 
duty  towards  him.  To  spare  him  the  misfortunes  you 
threaten  there  is  nothing  that  I  would  not  do.  Listen," 
she  said,  after  a  pause,  "I  will  not  talk  to  you  any 
more  of  separation.  You  shall  come  here  as  before.  I 
will  let  }'ou  kiss  my  forehead  :  if  I  did  refuse  it  some- 
times it  was  pure  coquetry  ;  I  admit  that.  But  let  us 
understand  each  other,"  she  said,  seeing  him  approach 
her.  ' 4 1  must  be  permitted  to  enlarge  the  number  of 
my  pretenders.  I  shall  receive  them  at  all  hours,  and 
in  greater  number  than  I  do  now.  I  shall  be  very  gay, 
and  treat  you  harshly,  and  pretend  we  are  parted,  and 
then  —  " 

"  And  then,"  cried  Montriveau,  as  he  passed  his  arm 
about  her  and  she  lifted  her  brow  to  let  him  kiss  it, 
"you  will  not  talk  to  me  again  of  your  husband;  you 
ought  not  even  to  think  of  him." 

Madame  de  Langeais  kept  silence.  "At  any  rate," 
she  said  at  last,  '  '  you  will  do  all  that  I  ask  of  you, 


458 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais, 


without  grumbling,  without  making  }Tourself  disagreea- 
ble,—  will  }'Ou  not,  dear  friend?  Ah,  you  only  wanted 
to  frighten  me?  Come,  confess  it!  But  tell  me,  have 
you  secrets  that  I  know  nothing  about  ?  What  do  you. 
mean  by  controlling  fate  ?  " 

"At  such  a  moment,  when  you  confirm  the  gift  of 
your  heart,  I  am  far  too  happy  to  know  how  I  should 
answer  }Tou.  I  put  my  trust  in  you,  dear  Antoinette  ; 
I  will  have  no  doubts,  no  jealous}-.  But  —  if  chance 
should  set  }'ou  at  liberty7  we  are  united  —  " 

"Chance,  Armand!"  she  cried,  with  one  of  those 
pretty  gestures  of  the  head  which  seemed  to  mean  so 
much,  and  which  she  gave  so  lightly,  "chance  !  remem- 
ber, if  through  you  any  misfortune  happens  to  Monsieur 
de  Langeais,  I  will  never  be  yours." 

They  parted  mutually  satisfied.  The  duchess  had 
made  terms  which  enabled  her  to  prove  to  all  the  world 
that  Monsieur  de  Montriveau  was  not  her  lover  ;  and 
as  for  him,  the  wiljr  creature  purposed  to  tire  him  out 
by  granting  no  other  favors  than  those  he  snatched  in 
the  little  quarrels  which  she  could  incite  or  arrest  as 
she  pleased.  She  knew  so  well  how  to  revoke  on  the 
morrow  a  concession  granted  the  night  before  ;  and  she 
was  so  seriously  determined  to  remain  virtuous  that  she 
saw  no  risk  to  herself  in  these  preliminaries,  dangerous 
as  the}'  might  be  to  a  woman  realty  in  love. 

On  his  side,  Montriveau,  quite  happ}'  in  having  ex- 
torted the  vaguest  of  promises,  and  in  putting  aside 
forever  the  objection  raised  on  the  score  of  the  husband, 
congratulated  himself  on  his  conquest  of  new  ground. 
It  must  be  owned  that  he  abused  these  rights  of  con- 
quest.   More  youthful  in  heart  than  he  had  ever  yet 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais,  459 


been,  he  gave  himself  up  to  those  childish  delights  which 
make  a  first  love  the  flower  of  our  life.  He  was  like 
a  child  again, — pouring  out  his  soul  and  his  cheated 
passion  upon  the  hands  of  his  idol,  upon  the  ripples 
of  her  blond  hair,  or  the  white  brow  that  seemed  to 
him  so  pure. 

Bathed  in  love,  the  duchess  lingered,  hesitating  to 
begin  the  quarrel  which  was  to  separate  them  forever. 
She  was  more  of  a  woman  than  she  thought  she  was, — 
the  fragile  creature  !  striving  to  reconcile  the  claims 
of  religion  with  the  livelier  emotions  of  vanity  and  the 
phantom  pleasure  which  the  true  Parisian  idolizes. 
Every  Sunday  she  heard  Mass  and  all  the  offices  of 
the  Church  ;  every  evening  she  plunged  into  the  intoxi- 
cating pla}T  with  greater  relish.  Armand  and  Madame 
de  Langeais  were  like  the  Fakirs  of  India,  who  are 
rewarded  for  their  chastity  by  the  temptations  it  offers 
them.  Perhaps  the  duchess  had  come  to  persuade  her- 
self that  these  fraternal  caresses,  innocent  enough  in 
the  eyes  of  the  world,  were  the  whole  of  love.  How 
else  explain  the  mystery  of  her  perpetual  fluctuations  ? 
Every  morning  she  resolved  to  close  her  doors  to 
Montriveau  ;  every  evening  the  appointed  hour  found 
her  still  beneath  the  charm.  After  fencing  feebly  for 
a  while  she  would  become  less  provoking,  sweeter  and 
more  gracious  :  lovers  only  could  have  been  thus  to 
each  other.  The  duchess  displayed  her  natural  spark- 
ling wit  and  her  winning  ways  ;  then,  when  she  had 
brought  her  lover  to  her  feet,  and  he  had  reached  the 
ne  plus  ultra  of  his  passion,  she  grew  angiy  if  he  for- 
got himself  and  threatened  to  pass  the  barriers  she 
imposed  upon  him. 


400 


The  Duchesse  dp.  Langeais, 


But  as  no  woman  can  really  deny  herself  to  love  with- 
out a  reason,  Madame  de  Langeais  looked  about  her 
for  a  second  line  of  fortifications  more  difficult  to  cany 
than  the  first.  She  invoked  the  terrors  of  religion. 
No  father  of  the  Church  ever  preached  more  eloquent 
morality  than  she  ;  never  was  the  vengeance  of  the 
Most  High  better  proclaimed  than  by  the  voice  of  our 
duchess.  Not  that  she  employed  the  phraseology  of 
sermons,  or  the  amplifications  of  rhetoric.  No,  indeed  ! 
she  had  her  own  especial  pathos.  Armand's  ardent 
supplications  she  met  with  tearful  glances,  with  ges- 
tures that  revealed  a  tumult  of  feeling  ;  she  silenced 
him  by  imploring  mercy  :  a  word  more  and  she  could 
not  bear  it — she  should  perish;  better  death  than  a 
dishonorable  happiness. 

"  Is  it  nothing  to  disobey  God?"  she  would  say  in  a 
voice  made  feeble  by  the  inward  conflict  which  the  pretty 
comedian  had  such  apparent  difficulty  to  subdue. 
"  Men,  the  world,  all,  I  would  gladly  sacrifice  for  you.  ; 
but  are  }'ou  not  very  selfish  to  ask  of  me  my  future  life 
merely  to  satisfy  your  own  desires?  Come,  tell  me,  are 
you  not  happy  now?"  she  added,  giving  him  her  hand 
and  the  consolation  of  a  glance. 

Sometimes,  to  retain  a  man  whose  ardent  love  gave  her 
new  and  unaccustomed  emotions,  or  perhaps  out  of  mere 
weakness,  she  let  him  snatch  a  few  hasty  kisses  before 
she  frowned  and  blushed  and  banished  him  to  a  distance. 

"  Your  pleasures  are  sins  that  I  must  expiate  :  they 
cost  me  penitence,  remorse  !  "  she  cried. 

When  Montriveau  found  himself  three  chairs  off  from 
those  aristocratic  draperies,  he  would  begin  to  swear  and 
curse  his  fate.    Then  the  duchess  was  indignant. 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


461 


44  My  friend,"  she  would  say  drily,  "  I  cannot  under- 
stand why  you  refuse  to  believe  in  God  ;  for  certainly  it 
is  impossible  to  believe  in  man.  Be  silent,  and  do  not 
speak  in  that  manner.  Your  soul  is  too  noble  to  share 
the  follies  of  liberalism  which  blots  out  God." 

Discussions,  theological  and  political,  served  her  as 
shower-baths  to  calm  Montriveau,  who  was  too  genuine 
to  get  back  to  love  when  she  had  once  made  him  angry 
and  sent  him  a  thousand  miles  away  from  the  boudoir 
into  theories  of  absolutism,  which  she  expounded  admir- 
abry.  Few  women  dare  to  be  democratic  ;  it  puts  them 
at  odds  with  their  own  natural  despotism.  Sometimes, 
however,  the  general  turned  upon  her,  shook  his  mane, 
ignored  politics  and  religion,  growled  like  a  lion,  lashed 
his  sides,  and  came  up  to  his  mistress  terrible  with  emo- 
tion and  incapable  of  holding  thought  and  love  in  a 
leash  any  longer.  If  she  then  felt  within  her  the  mov- 
ings  of  some  fancy  strong  enough  to  compromise  her, 
she  would  flit  from  the  boudoir,  surcharged  as  it  was 
with  desires,  to  the  piano  in  the  salon,  and  sing  the 
sweetest  airs  of  modern  music,  thus  evading  a  struggle 
which  perhaps  she  had  no  strength  to  overcome.  At 
such  moments  she  was  sublime  in  Montriveau's  eyes  : 
he  thought  her  true  ;  he  thought  she  loved  him  ;  he 
adored  the  resistance  which  made  him  take  her  — 
poor  lover  !  — for  a  pure  and  saintly  being.  With  such 
thoughts  he  resigned  himself,  and  began  to  talk  of 
friendship  and  the  pleasures  of  platonic  love,  —  he! 
the  general  of  artillery  ! 

When  she  had  played  religion  long  enough  in  her  own 
interests,  Madame  de  Langeais  played  it  over  again  for 
his.    She  endeavored  to  bring  him  back  to  Christian 


462 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


sentiments,  and  remodelled  the  Genius  of  Christianity 
to  the  special  needs  of  the  army.  But  here  Montriveau 
grew  impatient,  found  the  yoke  heavy,  and  resisted. 
Oh!  then,  byway  of  rebuke,  nry  lady  threatened  the 
thunders  of  the  Church,  hoping  in  her  heart  that  God 
would  soon  rid  her  of  a  man  who  held  to  his  purpose 
with  a  constancy  which  began  seriously  to  frighten 
her. 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais.  453 


x. 

If  the  opposition  made  in  the  name  of  marriage  rep- 
resented the  civil  epoch  of  this  sentimental  war,  the 
present  struggle  was  the  religious  epoch  ;  and  it  had, 
like  its  predecessor,  a  crisis,  after  which  its  fury  some- 
what abated.  One  evening  Armand,  arriving  rather 
earlier  than  usual,  found  the  Abbé  Gondrand,  the  di- 
rector of  Madame  de  Langeais'  conscience,  established 
in  an  armchair  near  the  fire  with  the  air  of  a  man  who 
was  comfortably  digesting  a  good  dinner  and  the  pretty 
sins  of  his  penitent.  At  the  sight  of  this  man,  with  his 
rosy  placid  face,  whose  forehead  was  calm,  his  mouth 
ascetic,  his  glance  slyly  inquisitorial,  and  whose  bearing 
had  the  true  ecclesiastical  dignity  which  threw  a  tint  of 
episcopal  violet  on  his  clothes,  Montriveau's  face  clouded 
over  ;  he  bowed  to  no  one  and  kept  silence.  Outside 
of  his  love  the  general  was  not  wanting  in  tact 
He  guessed,  as  he  glanced  at  the  embryo  bishop,  that 
here  was  the  man  who  prompted  the  difficulties  with 
which  the  duchess  fenced  about  her  love.  That  an 
ambitious  priest  should  filch  and  pocket  the  happi- 
ness of  a  man  of  his  stamp  ! — the  thought  made  him 
boil  with  rage  ;  he  clinched  his  hands,  and  began  to 
walk  angrily  about  the  room.  But  when  he  came  back 
to  his  seat,  resolved  to  give  open  vent  to  his  feel- 
ings, a  single  look  from  the  duchess  sufficed  to  calm 
him. 


464 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


Madame  de  Langeais,  in  nowise  disturbed  by  the 
black  silence  of  her  lover,  which  would  have  embarrassed 
any  other  woman,  continued  to  converse  in  a  lively 
manner  with  Monsieur  Gondrand  on  the  necessity  of  re- 
establishing religion  in  all  its  ancient  splendor.  She 
expounded,  much  more  cleverly  than  the  abbé  could, 
the  reasons  why  the  Church  should  be  the  great  power 
temporal  as  well  as  spiritual,  and  regretted  that  the 
French  Chamber  of  Peers  had  not  a  bench  of  bishops  like 
the  English  House  of  Lords.  How  ver,  the  abbé,  aware 
that  Lent  would  soon  give  him  his  revenge,  finally 
yielded  his  place  to  the  general,  and  went  away.  The 
duchess  scarcely  rose  to  acknowledge  the  humble  bow 
of  her  director,  so  occupied  was  she  in  watching  Mon- 
triveau's  behavior. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  my  friend?" 

"  Your  abbé  turns  my  stomach." 

'  '  Pray,  why  did  you  not  take  a  book  ?  "  she  said, 
without  caring  whether  the  abbé,  who  was  just  closing 
the  door,  heard  her  or  not. 

Montriveau  remained  silent  a  moment,  for  the  duchess 
accompanied  her  speech  with  a  gesture  that  added  to 
its  excessive  impertinence. 

"  My  dear  Antoinette,  I  thank  you  for  giving  prece- 
dence to  love  over  the  Church  ;  but  I  beg  you  will 
permit  me  to  ask  you  one  thing  —  " 

"Ah,  yon  question  me?  Very  well,"  she  replied; 
M  are  you  not  my  friend?  I  can  show  you  the  depths 
of  my  heart  ;  you  will  find  but  one  image  there." 

"  Have  you  spoken  to  that  man  of  our  love?" 

44  He  is  my  confessor." 

"  Does  he  know  that  I  love  you?" 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais.  465 


"Monsieur  de  Montriveau,  you  surely  do  not  presume 
to  ask  the  secrets  of  the  confessional  ?  " 

"  Then  that  man  does  know  our  quarrels  and  all  my 
love  for  you?" 

"  A  man,  Monsieur?  —  say  God." 

"God!  God!  I  ought  to  be  first  in  your  heart. 
Leave  God  where  he  is,  for  his  honor  and  mine. 
Madame,  you  shall  not  go  any  more  to  confession, 
or  —  " 

"Or?"  she  said  smiling. 

"  Or  I  will  never  see  you  more." 

"  Then  adieu,  Armand  ;  adieu  for  ever  !  " 

She  rose  and  went  into  her  boudoir  without  casting  a 
single  glance  at  Montriveau,  who  remained  standing  in 
the  middle  of  the  room,  his  hand  resting  on  the  back  of 
a  chair.  How  long  he  stood  there  he  never  knew.  The 
soul  has  a  mysterious  power  of  contracting  or  extending 
time. 

He  opened  the  door  of  the  boudoir:  all  was  dark 
within. 

A  feeble  voice  gathered  strength  to  say,  "  I  did  not 
ring.  "Why  do  you  enter  without  orders,  Susette? 
Leave  me." 

"  You  suffer?  "  cried  Montriveau. 

"  Leave  me,  Monsieur,"  she  answered,  ringing  the 
bell.    "  Leave  me  —  at  least  for  a  moment." 

"Madame  la  duchesse  rang  for  lights,"  he  said  to 
the  footman,  who  came  into  the  boudoir  and  lighted  the 
candles. 

When  the  two  were  alone  Madame  de  Langeais  re- 
mained on  the  divan  silent,  motionless,  precisely  as  if 
Montriveau  were  not  there. 

30,  . 


466  The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


"  Dear  !  "  he  said,  with  an  accent  of  pain  and  tender 
kindness,  "  I  was  wrong  :  I  would  not  have  you  without 
religion." 

"  How  fortunate  that  you  recognize  the  dut}T  of  con  - 
science !  "  she  said  in  a  hard  voice,  without  looking  at 
him.    "  I  thank  you  on  behalf  of  God." 

Here  the  general,  withered  by  this  inclemency,  made 
a  step  towards  the  door,  and  was  about  to  leave  her 
without  a  word.  He  suffered  ;  and  the  duchess  in  her 
heart  was  laughing  at  sufferings  caused  by  a  moral  tor- 
ture infinitely  more  cruel  to  the  soldier  than  the  tortures 
of  his  African  captivity.  But  he  was  not  to  be  allowed 
to  go.  In  all  crises  a  woman  is,  if  we  may  say  so,  preg- 
nant with  a  certain  quantity  of  words  ;  and  when  she  is 
not  delivered  of  them,  she  suffers  from  a  sensation  that 
things  are  incomplete.  Madame  de  Langeais  had  by 
no  means  said  her  say  ;  so  she  resumed  :  — 

"lam  grieved,  general,  that  we  have  not  the  same 
convictions.  It  would  be  terrible  for  a  woman  not  to 
believe  in  a  religion  which  allows  her  to  love  beyond  the 
grave.  I  say  nothing  of  Christian  sentiments,  for  you 
cannot  understand  them  ;  but  let  me  speak  to  you  of 
the  proprieties  of  the  Christian  life.  Would  you  deny 
to  women  of  the  court  the  right  of  confession  as  a  prep- 
aration for  the  duties  of  Easter?  You  liberals  cannot 
kill  the  religious  sentiment,  though  you  may  wish  to  do 
so.  Religion  will  alwaj^s  be  a  political  necessity.  Do  you 
expect  to  be  ab'e  to  govern  a  nation  of  pure  reason- 
ers  ?  Napoleon  could  not  ;  he  persecuted  thought.  To 
keep  the  people  from  reasoning,  3'ou  must  give  them  sen- 
timents. Let  us  accept  therefore  the  Catholic  religion 
with  all  its  consequences  \  and  if  we  wish  the  people 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


467 


to  go  to  Mass,  we  must  go  there  ourselves.  Religion, 
Armand,  as  you  can  see  for  3Tourself,  is  the  bond  of  the 
conservative  principles  which  enable  the  rich  to  live  in 
safety.  Religion  is  therefore  the  first  of  proprieties. 
You  must  admit  it  is  a  finer  thing  to  lead  a  nation  by 
moral  ideas  instead  of  scaffolds,  as  in  the  days  of  the 
Terror,  —  the  only  means  your  detestable  Revolution 
found  for  enforcing  its  principles  !  Priesthood,  monar- 
chy, what  are  they?  Why,  they  are  you,  they  are  I, 
they  are  my  neighbor  the  princess  ;  in  a  word,  the}'  are 
the  welfare  of  all  respectable  people  personified.  Come, 
my  friend,  be  on  our  side,  —  you  who  might  be  its  Sylla 
if  you  had  the  least  ambition.  As  for  me,  I  am  quite 
ignorant  of  politics,  —  I  only  reason  from  feeling;  but 
I  certainly  do  know  that  society  will  be  upset  if  its  base 
is  to  be  called  in  question  at  every  moment." 

"If  these  are  the  opinions  of  your  court  and  your 
government,  I  am  sorry  for  them,"  said  Montriveau. 
"The  Restoration,  Madame,  should  say  like  Catherine 
de  Medicis,  when  she  thought  the  battle  of  Dreux  was 
lost,  '  Well,  we  will  go  to  their  conventicles.'  The  year 
1814  was  your  battle  of  Dreux.  Like  the  throne  of 
those  days,  you  have  gained  it  in  appearance  and  lost 
it  in  fact.  Political  protestantism  is  victorious  in  the 
minds  of  all.  If  you  don't  want  to  make  an  Edict  of 
Nantes,  or  if,  making  it,  you  revoke  it,  —  if  some  day 
you  are  tried  and  convicted  of  desiring  to  do  awa}T  with 
the  Charter,  which  was  a  pledge  given  to  maintain  the 
interests  of  the  Revolution,  —  a  second  revolution  will 
arise  which  will  give  you  but  one  blow.  Liberalism 
will  not  be  the  one  that  is  driven  from  France  :  liberal- 
ism is  in  the  soil  ;  nay,  it  is  the  soil  itself.    Men  may  die, 


4G8 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


but  the  interests  of —  Good  God  !  but  what  is  France, 
the  throne,  legitimacy,  the  world  itself,  compared  to 
my  love,  my  happiness? — idle  tales.  Conquering  or 
conquered,  what  is  it  all  to  me  ?  Ah,  where  am  I  ?  " 

"In  the  boudoir  of  the  Duchesse  de  Langeais,  my 
friend." 

"No,  no!  no  longer  the  duchess,  nor  de  Langeais: 
I  am  beside  my  own  Antoinette." 

"  Will  you  be  good  enough  to  stay  where  you  are," 
she  said  laughing,  and  gently  repelling  him. 

"Have  you  never  loved  me?"  he  exclaimed,  with 
angry  eyes. 

"No,  my  friend." 

But  the  no  had  the  tone  of  a  }'es. 

"I  am  a  great  fool,"  he  said,  kissing  the  hands  of 
this  terrible  queen  suddenly  reduced  to  womanhood. 
"  Antoinette,"  he  continued,  resting  his  head  upon  her 
feet,  "you  are  too  chaste  and  tender  to  tell  our  love  to 
any  one  in  the  world." 

"Ah,  you  are  indeed  a  great  fool!"  she  cried, 
springing  up  with  a  quick  and  graceful  movement,  and 
flitting  into  the  salon  without  another  word. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  demanded  the  general,  who 
could  not  guess  the  electric  shock  wThich  the  touch  of 
his  burning  brow  had  sent  from  the  feet  to  the  head 
of  his  mistress. 

When  he  reached  the  salon  he  heard  the  soft  chords 
of  the  piano  at  which  the  duchess  had  taken  refuge. 
Men  of  science  or  of  poetic  impulse,  who  can  appre- 
hend and  enjoy  without  losing  their  enjoyment  in  the 
process  of  reflection,  feel  that  notes  and  phrases  of 
music  are  a  medium  which  conveys  the  soul  of  the 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


409 


musician,  just  as  wood  and  brass  are  the  instruments 
of  the  artificer.  For  them  there  is  a  music  apart  in  the 
depths  of  this  sensuous  language  of  the  soul.  Andi- 
amo  mio  ben  can  bring  tears  of  joy  or  scornful  laugh- 
ter, as  the  singer  ma}-  sing  it.  Often,  here  and  there 
in  the  world,  young  hearts  dying  under  the  weight  of 
hidden  grief,  men  whose  souls  are  wrung  with  the  tor- 
tures of  passion,  seize  strains  of  music  which  bring 
them  into  harmony  with  heaven,  or  soothe  their  anguish 
with  some  melody  hiding  like  a  poem  within  them. 

The  general  now  listened  to  such  a  poem,  hidden 
away  in  a  soul  like  the  song  of  a  bird  lonely  without 
its  mate  in  the  depths  of  a  virgin  forest. 

'>YVkat  are  you  playing?"  he  asked  in  a  voice  full 
of  emotion. 

"  The  prelude  to  a  ballad  called,  I  think,  '  Fleuve  du 
Tage.'  " 

"  I  did  not  know  that  the  piano  could  give  forth  such 
music." 

"Ah,  my  friend  !  "  she  said,  giving  him  for  the  first 
time  the  glance  of  a  loving  woman,  "neither  do  you 
know  that  I  love  you  ;  that  you  make  me  surfer  horri- 
bly ;  that  I  must  find  a  wa}-  to  complain  in  secret,  or  I 
should  yield  to  you.   Ah,  yes,  indeed  you  see  nothing  ! n 

' 1  Yet  you  will  not  make  me  happy  ?  " 

"  Armand,  if  I  did  I  should  die  of  it  !  " 

The  general  left  her  brusquely,  but  when  he  reached 
the  street  he  wiped  away  the  tears  which  he  had  had 
the  strength  to  restrain  till  then. 

Religion  lasted  three  months.  At  the  end  of  that 
time  the  duchess,  weary  of  her  prayers,  delivered  over 


470 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


the  Church,  bound  hand  and  foot,  to  her  lover.  Per- 
haps she  was  afraid  that  by  dint  of  preaching  eternity 
she  might  perpetuate  the  general's  love  in  this  world 
and  the  next.  For  the  honor  of  this  woman  we  must 
believe  that  she  was  virgin,  even  in  heart;  otherwise 
her  conduct  would  be  too  cruel.  Far  from  the  age  at 
which  men  and  women  approach  the  limits  of  the 
future  and  cease  to  wrangle  about  their  happiness,  she 
was,  not  perhaps  at  her  first  fancy,  but  assuredly  on  the 
borders  of  her  first  love.  Without  experience  whereby 
to  judge,  without  the  knowledge  of  suffering  that  might 
have  taught  her  the  value  of  the  treasures  poured  at 
her  feet,  she  was  ignorantly  amusing  herself  with  them. 
Blind  to  the  light  and  joy  of  love  she  contentedly  played 
with  its  shadow. 

Armand,  who  began  at  last  to  comprehend  the  sin- 
gularities of  this  condition,  counted  much  on  the  first 
promptings  of  nature.  He  reflected  day  by  day,  as  he 
left  Madame  de  Langeais,  that  no  woman  could  accept 
for  seven  months  the  devotion  of  a  man  and  so  many 
tender  and  delicate  proofs  of  it,  or  yield  these  super- 
ficial gains  to  his  love,  and  betray  him  finally  ;  he 
waited  therefore  the  rising  of  the  sun,  confident  that 
the  fruit  would  ripen  in  due  season.  He  understood 
her  scruples  and  rejoiced  in  them.  He  thought  her 
chaste  and  dignified,  and  he  would  not  have  had  her 
otherwise,  when  in  fact  she  was  only  horribly  coquet- 
tish. He  liked  to  see  her  raise  obstacles  which  he  could 
gradually  overcome  ;  and  each  triumph  added  a  trifle  to 
the  slender  rights  which,  one  by  one,  after  long  with- 
holding, she  had  granted  with  the  semblance  at  least  of 
love.    But  he  so  thoroughly  assimilated  these  slight 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais,  471 


and  progressive  gains,  that  they  were  soon  habitual  to 
him,  and  erelong  he  believed  he  had  only  his  own  hesi- 
tations to  vanquish.  In  his  heart  he  saw  no  greater 
hindrance  to  his  passion  than  the  waywardness  of  her 
who  allowed  him  to  call  her  Antoinette  ;  and  at  last  he 
resolved  to  press  forward  and  demand  all.  Timid  as 
a  young  lover  who  cannot  yet  believe  that  his  idol  will 
bow  down  to  him,  he  hesitated  long,  and  passed  through 
terrible  reactions  of  the  heart  ;  desires  formed  only  to 
be  annihilated  by  a  look  ;  resolutions  taken  which  were 
swept  away  at  the  threshold  of  a  door.  He  despised 
himself  for  not  having  strength  to  say  the  word,  and  yet 
he  did  not  say  it. 

At  last,  one  evening  he  began  in  a  tone  of  sombre 
sadness  to  put  forth  a  claim  to  his  illegally  legitimate 
rights.  The  duchess  did  not  need  any  words  from  her 
slave  ;  she  knew  perfectly  what  was  in  his  mind.  Is  a 
man's  hope  ever  secret?  Are  not  women  steeped  in  the 
science  of  deciphering  every  change  of  his  countenance? 
Madame  de  Langeais  stopped  Montriveau  at  his  first 
word. 

"Would  you  cease  to  be  my  friend?"  she  asked, 
with  a  glance  made  lovelier  by  the  blush  which  flowed 
beneath  her  transparent  cheek.  "As  a  reward  for 
all  my  generosity  would  you  bring  me  to  dishonor? 
Reflect  a  moment.  I  have  reflected  much.  I  have 
reflected  as  a  woman.  Women  have  their  integrity  to 
maintain,  as  men  maintain  their  honor.  I  could  not 
deceive.  If  I  became  3~ours,  I  could  not  remain  in  any 
way  the  wife  of  Monsieur  de  Langeais.  Therefore  you 
exact  the  sacrifice  of  my  position,  my  rank,  my  life, 
for  a  doubtful  love  which  has  lasted  only  seven  months. 


472 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


What!  would  you  take  from  me  my  freedom,  my  liberty? 
No,  no  !  do  not  speak  of  it  ;  say  no  more." 

Here  the  duchess  with  both  hands  put  back  her  hair 
which  seemed  to  heat  her  brow,  and  looked  excited. 

"You  come  to  a  feeble  woman,"  she  continued,  "with 
calculations  in  your  mind.  You  have  said  to  yourself  : 
4  She  will  talk  to  me  of  her  husband  for  a  time,  then 
of  religion  ;  and  that  will  be  the  last  of  her  resistance. 
I  will  use  and  abuse  the  rights  I  have  conquered:  I 
shall  then  be  necessary  to  her.  I  shall  have  on  my 
side  the  ties  of  habit,  the  public  recognition  of  my 
claims  ;  the  world  accepts  our  liaison,  and  I  shall  be 
her  master.'  Be  frank,  are  not  these  your  thoughts? 
Ah  !  you.  calculated,  and  you  call  that  love  ?  Love  ! 
no,  indeed  ;  you  merety  wish  me  for  your  mistress. 
Well,  then  !  the  Duchesse  de  Langeais  does  not  descend 
so  low  as  that.  Let  commoner  women  be  the  dupes 
of  your  calculation, — I  will  never  be.  What  surety 
does  your  love  offer  me?  You  talk  to  me  of  my  beauty  : 
I  may  be  ugly  in  six  months,  like  the  dear  princess, 
my  neighbor.  You  are  charmed  with  my  wit,  my  grace  : 
but  before  long  you  will  get  accustomed  to  them  just  as 
you  get  accustomed  to  every  pleasure.  Have  you  not 
already  made  a  habit  of  every  little  favor  I  have  ac- 
corded you?  When  it  is  too  late,  you  will  come  to  me 
and  give  as  your  sole  reason  for  deserting  me,  *  I 
love  you  no  longer.'  Rank,  fortune,  honor,  all  that  is 
the  Duchesse  de  Langeais,  will  be  swallowed  up  in  a 
hope  deceived,  and  — 

"  But,"  she  resumed,  "  I  am  too  kind  to  say  more: 
indeed  3^011  already  know  it  all.  Now,  let  this  end.  I 
am  too  happy  as  I  am  to  change  the  state  of  things. 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais.  473 


And  as  for  you,  — has  it  been  so  very  heroic  to  spend  a 
few  hours  daily  at  the  Hôtel  de  Langeais,  with  a  woman 
whose  chatter  amused  you?  There  are  several  young 
fops  who  come  to  see  me  daily,  from  four  to  six  o'clock, 
as  regularly  as  you  come  in  the  evenings.  Are  they 
veiy  generous?  I  laugh  at  them  ;  they  take  my  whims 
and  my  nonsense  in  good  part.  They  amuse  me  ;  but 
you,  — 3'ou  to  whom  I  have  really  given  the  best  within 
me, — you  wish  me  evil,  and  cause  me  grief.  Hush! 
hush!"  she  said,  seeing  him  about  to  speak;  "you 
have  no  heart,  nor  soul,  nor  delicacy.  I  know  what 
you  are  trying  to  say.  Well,  then,  yes!  I  would  rather 
"be  cold,  unfeeling,  without  a  heart,  without  devotion  in 
your  eyes,  than  seem  in  the  eyes  of  the  world  one  of 
the  common  race  of  women  who  sacrifice  everything  to 
the  pretended  love  of  a  man.  Your  selfish  love  is  not 
worth  such  a  sacrifice." 

These  words  give  but  a  faint  idea  of  the  sentences 
which  the  duchess  warbled  forth  with  the  lively  prolixity 
of  a  canary.  She  might  have  talked  on  indefinitely  ; 
for  the  poor  general's  sole  reply  to  the  flute-like  phrases 
was  silence  teeming  with  painful  thoughts.  He  per- 
ceived for  the  first  time  the  coquetry  of  this  woman, 
and  guessed  instinctively  that  a  true  devotion  could  not 
reason  thus  in  the  heart  of  a  tender  woman.  Then  he 
was  stung  with  shame  as  he  remembered  that  he  had 
involuntarily  made  the  calculations  with  which  she  bit- 
terly reproached  him.  Examining  his  conscience  with 
a  candor  that  was  almost  angelic,  he  saw  selfishness 
in  his  words,  his  thoughts,  even  in  the  answers  which 
came  into  his  mind  and  were  smothered  there.  He 
blamed  himself  j  in  his  despair  the  thought  crossed 


474 


The  Duchesse  de  Langaeis. 


him  of  disappearing  forever.  The  /  paralyzed  him. 
Of  what  use  was  it  to  speak  of  love  to  a  woman  who 
believed  in  none?  How  could  he  say  to  her,  "  Let  me 
prove  to  you  that  I  love  3Tou?  "  —  7",  always  If 

Montriveau,  unlike  ordinary  heroes  of  the  boudoir  in 
similar  circumstances,  was  not  wise  enough  to  imitate 
the  rough  logician  who  marched  before  the  Pyrrhonians 
while  denying  his  own  movement.  This  man  of  noted 
courage  failed  in  audacit}^  precisely  where  lovers  who 
know  the  formula  of  female  algebra  are  strongest.  If 
man}7  women,  even  the  best,  fall  a  prey  to  the  calculations 
of  clever  men,  it  may  possibly  be  because  the  latter  are 
sound  mathematicians,  and  know  that  love,  in  spite  of 
its  delightful  poetry  of  sentiment,  demands  more  ge- 
ometry than  we  think  for. 

The  duchess  and  Montriveau  were  alike  in  one  re- 
spect, —  they  were  equally  inexpert  in  love.  She  knew 
very  little  of  its  theory,  and  absolutely  nothing  of  its 
practice.  She  felt  nothing,  and  what  she  knew  came 
only  through  reflection.  Montriveau  knew  little  of  its 
practice,  was  totally  ignorant  of  its  theory,  and  felt  far 
too  much  to  reflect  at  all.  Both,  therefore,  were  in 
the  grasp  of  their  unfortunate  situation.  At  this  mo- 
ment Armand  thought  that  all  resolved  itself  into  two 
words:  "Be  mine!"  —  phrase  full  of  egotism  to  a 
woman  for  whom  the  words  bore  neither  memories  nor 
hopes.  He  was  forced  however  to  make  her  some 
reply.  Though  lashed  by  her  little  phrases  shot  like 
arrows,  sharp,  steety,  stinging,  delivered  one  after  an- 
other with  penetrating  force,  he  was  compelled  to  dis- 
semble his  anger  lest  he  should  lose  all  by  a  passionate 
speech. 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais* 


475 


"  Madame  la  duchesse,"  he  said,  "  I  am  in  despair  that 
God  has  appointed  no  other  way  for  a  woman  to  con- 
firm the  gift  of  her  heart  than  by  adding  to  it  the  gift  of 
her  person.  The  high  price  which  you  attach  to  your- 
self shows  me  that  I,  at  least,  should  not  attach  to  it  a 
lesser.  If  }'ou  give  me  }T>ur  soul  and  its  emotions,  as 
you  say  you  do,  what  matter  for  the  rest?  If  my  hap- 
piness is  to  you  so  painful  a  sacrifice,  let  us  say  no  more 
about  it.  Only,  you  must  permit  a  man  of  honor  to  feel 
that  he  is  humiliated  in  being  taken  for  a  spaniel. " 

The  tone  of  these  words  might  well  have  frightened 
any  woman  ;  but  when  one  of  these  Peris  is  lifted  above 
this  earth  and  turned  into  a  divinity,  there  is  no  pride 
here  below  that  equals  hers. 

"  Monsieur  le  marquis,"  she  answered,  "  I  am  in  des- 
pair that  God  has  appointed  no  nobler  way  for  a  man 
to  confirm  the  gift  of  his  heart  than  by  the  manifestation 
of  desires  which  are  —  prodigiously  vulgar.  In  giving 
ourselves,  we  women  become  slaves  for  life  ;  but  the  men 
who  accept  us  commit  themselves  to  nothing.  What  as- 
surance have  I  that  I  should  be  always  loved  ?  The  love 
that  I  should  be  forced  to  show  at  all  times  to  keep  }tou 
bound  to  me  might  be  the  very  reason  of  your  desertion. 
I  do  not  choose  to  be  a  second  edition  of  Madame  de 
Beauséant.  Who  knows  what  it  is  that  keeps  a  man 
faithful  to  a  woman  ?  Constant  coldness  is  the  secret 
of  the  constant  passion  of  some  of  you  ;  others  de- 
mand a  ceaseless  devotion.  For  some,  tenderness  ;  for 
others,  tyranny.  Ko  woman  has  ever  yet  fully  fathomed 
your  hearts." 

There  was  a  painful  pause,  and  then  she  changed  her 
tone. 


476  The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


"  My  friend,  you  cannot  prevent  a  woman  from 
trembling  before  the  question,  4  Shall  I  be  always 
loved?'  Hard  as  my  words  are,  they  come  from  the 
fear  of  losing  you.  Ah,  believe  me  ;  it  is  not  I,  dear, 
who  speaks  to  you,  but  reason.  How  is  it  that 
such  a  light  creature  as  I  can  reason?  Indeed,  I  can- 
not tell." 

As  he  listened  to  this  answer,  begun  in  a  tone  of 
trenchant  irony  and  ended  with  the  sweetest  accents  a 
woman's  voice  could  take  to  picture  love  in  all  its  can- 
dor, Montriveau  passed  in  a  moment  from  martyrdom 
to  the  skies.  He  turned  pale,  and  for  the  first  time  in 
his  life  he  fell  on  his  knees  at  the  feet  of  a  woman.  He 
kissed  the  hem  of  her  robe  —  but  for  the  honor  of  the 
Faubourg  Saint-Germain,  let  us  not  reveal  an  emotion 
betra3xed  in  this  boudoir,  where  all  of  love  was  accepted 
and  none  was  given. 

"Antoinette!"  cried  Montriveau  in  the  delirium  of 
joy  caused  by  the  surrender  of  the  duchess,  who  was 
thinking  herself  very  generous  for  permitting  his  ado- 
ration, 44  you  are  right.  You  shall  have  no  room  to 
doubt.  At  this  moment  I  tremble  m}rself,  lest  I  lose  the 
angel  of  my  life.  I  will  seek  a  way  to  make  our  bonds 
indissoluble  —  " 

44  Ah,"  she  whispered,  "  you  see  I  was  right." 

44  Let  me  finish  what  I  was  about  to  say.  I  will  with 
one  word  dispel  your  doubts.  Listen  !  I  pledge  myself 
to  die  if  I  desert  you.  Be  mine,  and  I  will  give  }ou 
the  right  to  kill  me  if  I  betray  you.  I  will  write  a  letter 
in  which  I  declare  reasons  that  compelled  me  to  destroy 
myself.  I  will  make  it  my  last  will  ;  you  shall  hold  it 
as  a  testament  which  will  justify  my  death  ;  you  shall 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais,  477 


know  that  you  are  avenged  without  clanger  to  yourself 
from  God  or  man." 

"  What  need  have  I  of  such  a  document?  If  I  lose 
thy  love,  what  is  life  to  me  ?  If  I  should  kill  thee,  would 
I  not  follow  thee  ?  No,  I  am  grateful  for  the  thought  ; 
but  I  do  not  want  the  letter.  Might  it  not  make  me 
think  my  Armand  faithful  to  me  through  fear  ?  —  or 
rather,  would  not  this  very  danger  lend  a  charm  to  in- 
fidelity for  one  who  loves  to  risk  his  life?  Armand,  the 
one  thing  I  require  is  the  only  thing  that  is  hard  for 
thee  to  do." 

44  What  is  it,  love?"  he  whispered. 

44  Thy  obedience,  and  my  liberty." 

44  My  God  !  "  he  said.    44 1  am  but  a  child  !  " 

44  A  spoiled,  yet  willing  child,"  she  answered,  caressing 
the  head  which  still  lay  upon  her  knees.  44  More  loved 
than  he  thinks  for,  yet  far  too  disobedient.  Ah,  let  us 
stay  as  we  are  !  Make  me  the  sacrifice  of  wishes  which 
offend  me.  Why  not  accept  what  I  give,  if  it  is  all  that 
I  can  honestly  grant  ?    Are  you  not  happy,  Armand  ?  " 

44  Oh,  yes!"  he  answered.  44 1  am  happy  —  happy 
now  that  I  cannot  doubt  your  love.  Antoinette  !  when 
we  love,  to  doubt  is  death." 

Under  the  strong  feeling  of  the  moment  he  showed 
himself  for  what  he  was,  and  grew  eloquent  and  ten- 
derly perceptive.  The  duchess,  as  she  permitted  these 
emotions,  sanctioned  perhaps  by  some  secret  and  Jesu- 
itical ukase,  felt  all  the  mental  excitement  which  made 
Armand's  love  as  necessan*  to  her  as  her  balls  or  the 
opera.  To  see  herself  adored  by  a  man  who  inspired 
fear  in  others  ;  to  make  him  a  child,  and  play  with  him 
as  Poppsea  played  with  Nero,  —  all  this  was  a  perilous 


478 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais, 


delight  which  many  women,  like  the  wives  of  Henry 
VIII.,  have  paid  for  with  their  life's  blood.  Well,  curi- 
ous presentiment  !  as  she  let  him  kiss  the  blond  ripples 
of  her  hair,  as  she  felt  the  pressure  of  the  small  hand  of 
this  man  so  honorably  great,  as  she  played  herself  with 
his  black  locks  in  the  boudoir  where  she  reigned  a 
queen,  the  duchess  said  to  herself,  "  This  man  is  capa- 
ble of  killing  me,  if  he  once  perceives  that  I  am  trifling 
with  him." 


The  Duchesne  de  Langeais.  479 


XL 

Monsieur  de  Monteiveau  remained  till  two  m  the 
morning  beside  bis  mistress,  who  thenceforth  was  to  him 
no  longer  a  duchess,  nor  a  Navarreins  ;  Antoinette  had 
pushed  her  deception  so  far  as  to  seem  a  woman.  Dur- 
ing this  delightful  evening —  the  sweetest  prelude  that 
a  Parisian  woman  ever  gave  to  what  the  world  would 
term  a  fault  —  the  general  was  permitted  to  see  her, 
despite  the  affectations  of  a  coquettish  modesty,  in  all 
the  true  beaut}'  of  a  3'oung  girl.  He  might  think  with 
reason  that  these  quarrels  were  like  veils  which  wrapped 
a  heaven-born  soul,  to  be  lifted  one  by  one  as  he  raised 
the  gauze  which  she  loved  to  wind  about  her  throat. 
The  duchess  was  to  him  the  most  artless  and  ingenuous  of 
women,  the  wife  of  his  choice  ;  and  he  went  away  happy 
in  the  thought  that  having  brought  her  to  grant  him 
so  many  pledges  of  affection,  he  must  be  to  her  for  ever- 
more a  husband  in  secret,  approved  in  the  sight  of  God. 

He  went  slowly  homeward,  following  the  quays  that  he 
might  see  the  open  heaven  above  him  ;  his  lungs  breathed 
in  more  air  ;  he  needed  the  firmament,  and  the  breadth  of 
nature  for  his  expanding  heart.  As  he  walked  he  ques- 
tioned himself  solemnly.  He  vowed  to  love  this  woman 
so  religiously  that  she  should  find  each  day  in  constant 
happiness  an  absolution  for  her  social  error.  Men  of  the 
stamp  who  dye  their  souls  with  one  only  sentiment  feel 
an  infinite  joy  in  contemplating  by  snatches  a  whole  life* 


480 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


time  of  devotion,  as  some  recluses  contemplate  the  light 
divine  in  ecstasy .  Without  this  belief  in  its  perpetuity, 
love  would  be  to  them  as  nothing  :  faithfulness  is  the  fab- 
ric of  such  love.  It  was  thus  that  Montriveau  compre- 
hended his  passion  as  he  walked  along  in  the  grasp  of  jo}^. 

"We  are  joined  forever  !  "  this  thought  was  a  talisman 
that  held  the  dedication  of  a  lifetime.  He  never  asked 
himself  if  the  duchess  would  change,  if  this  love  would 
last.  No,  he  had  faith,  —  a  virtue  without  which  there 
can  be  no  Christian  future,  but  which  is  still  more  neces- 
sary to  societies.  For  the  first  time  he  conceived  of  life 
b}'  the  light  of  feeling,  —  he  who  had  hitherto  lived  only 
in  excess  of  human  action,  the  devotion  half  corporeal 
of  a  soldier. 

The  following  day  Monsieur  de  Montriveau  went  early 
to  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain,  having  an  appointment 
in  a  house  near  the  Hôtel  de  Langeais,  where,  as  soon 
as  he  had  transacted  his  business,  he  turned  his  steps 
as  if  to  his  own  home.  The  general  was  joined  by  a 
man  for  whom  in  company  he  appeared  to  feel  an  aver- 
sion. It  was  the  Marquis  de  Ronquerolles,  whose  repu- 
tation was  very  high  in  the  boudoirs  of  Paris,  —  a  man  of 
wit  and  talent,  above  all  of  courage,  who  gave  the 
tone  to  the  }Toung  men  of  the  da}'  ;  a  brave  man  whose 
experience  and  whose  success  were  equally  envied,  and 
who  lacked  neither  the  birth  nor  the  fortune  which  add 
lustre  to  the  qualities  of  a  man  of  the  world.1 

1  Montriveau  and  Ronquerolles  belonged  to  the  "  Company  of 
the  Thirteen,"  —  a  secret  society  of  thirteen  men  of  rank  bound  by 
no  conventional  ties,  recognizing  no  laws,  obeying  only  their  own 
sense  of  devotion,  and  acting  all  for  each  when  any  of  their  num- 
ber needed  assistance.  These  brothers  gave  each  other  no  recog- 
nition in  society;  in  secret,  they  were  one  soul  in  thirteen  bodies. 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais 


481 


"  Where  are  you  going?  "  said  Monsieur  de  Ronque- 
rolles  to  Montriveau. 

"  To  the  Duchesse  de  Langeais." 

"  Ah,  true  ;  I  forgot  that  you  were  caught  in  her 
net.  You  will  waste  with  her  a  love  you  had  much  bet- 
ter carry  elsewhere.  I  know  ten  women  who  are  worth 
a  thousand  of  that  titled  courtesan,  who  does  with  her 
head  what  other  women  do  with  —  " 

4 'Hush  !"  said  Montriveau,  "the  duchess  is  an  angel 
of  truth  and  candor." 

Ronquerolles  laughed.  "If  you  have  got  as  far  as 
that,  my  dear  fellow,  I  must  enlighten  you.  One  word, 
however  ;  between  us  it  cannot  matter.  Is  the  duchess 
yours?  If  she  is,  I  will  say  no  more.  But  tell  me  the 
truth,  for  I  cannot  let  you  fasten  that  noble  heart  of 
yours  to  a  nature  that  will  betray  every  hope  you 
form." 

When  Armand  had  given  a  sketch  of  his  situation, 
scrupulously  relating  with  all  his  natural  candor  the 
slender  rights  he  had  won  with  so  much  difficulty, 
Uonquerolles  burst  into  a  fit  of  laughter  which  would 
have  cost  the  life  of  any  other  man  ;  but  an  observer 
who  saw  how  these  men  looked  and  spoke  to  each  other, 
standing  alone  in  the  angle  of  a  wall,  as  far  from  the 
world  of  men  as  if  thej-  were  in  the  middle  of  a  desert, 
would  have  felt  that  they  were  united  by  some  bond 
which  no  interest  in  life  could  loosen. 

"  My  dear  Armand,  why  did  you  not  tell  me  that 
you  were  involved  with  the  duchess?  I  could  have 
given  you  advice  that  would  have  brought  you  well  out 
of  the  affair.  You  ought  to  know  that  the  women  of 
our  faubourg,  like  all  others,  delight  in  being  bathed  in 

31 


482 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


love,  but  only  so  far  as  possessing  all  without  being 
possessed  themselves.  The  jurisprudence  of  the  church 
allows  everything  short  of  actual  sin.  The}-  compound 
with  nature.  The  favors  which  the  lovely  duchess  doles 
out  to  you  are  venial  faults,  which  she  washes  off  with 
the  waters  of  penitence.  But  if  3-011  had  the  imperti- 
nence to  demand  seriously  the  mortal  sin,  you  would  see 
with  what  profound  disdain  the  doors  of  the  boudoir  and 
the  hôtel  would  be  shut  in  your  face.  Your  tender  An- 
toinette would  forget  all  her  promises  ;  3-ou  would  be 
less  than  nothing  to  her.  Your  kisses,  nvy  dear  friend, 
are  wiped  off  with  her  rouge.  I  know  that  sort  of  wo- 
man,—  pure  Parisian.  Did  you  never  notice  a  little 
grisette  tripping  daintily  along?  Her  head  is  a  pic- 
ture,—  pretty  cap,  fresh  cheeks,  coquettish  hair,  arch 
smile  ;  the  rest  of  her  very  little  cared  for.  Is  n't  that 
a  good  portrait?  That  is  the  Parisian  woman.  Well, 
your  duchess  is  all  head.  She  feels  with  her  head  ;  her 
heart  is  in  her  head,  so  is  her  voice  ;  she  is  dainty 
through  her  head.  I  call  that  poor  species  the  intellec- 
tual Lais.  She  is  playing  with  you.  If  3-ou  doubt  me, 
the  proof  is  at  hand.  To-night,  to-da3T,  now  —  go  at 
once  and  demand  imperious!}-  that  she  shall  grant  what 
she  now  refuses  ;  even  though  you  set  about  it  like  the 
late  Maréchal  de  Richelieu." 

Armand  was  dumb. 

"  Are  3-ou  resolved  to  have  her?" 

"I  will  win  her  at  an}T  price,"  cried  Montriveau 
desperate^-. 

"Well,  then,  listen.  Be  as  implacable  as  she  will 
be  ;  try  to  humiliate  her,  to  pique  her  vanit}r,  to  rouse, 
not  her  heart,  not  her  soul,  but  her  nerves  and  her 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


483 


lymph,  —  for  such  a  woman  is  both  nervous  and  lym- 
phatic.   If  you  can  give  birth  to  a  desire  in  her  soul 
you  are  safe.   But  resign  all  your  beautiful  ideas  of  love 
and  tenderness.    If  having  caught  her  in  eagle's  claws 
you  hesitate,  you  yield  an  inch,  —  if  an  eyelash  quiver,  if 
she  thinks  she  can  still  control  you,  —  she  will  slip  from 
your  talons  like  a  fish  and  escape,  never  to  be  caught 
again.    Be  inflexible  as  law.    Have  no  more  mercy 
than  the  executioner.     Strike  !  having  struck,  strike 
again  !    Strike  as  if  with  a  knout  !    A  duchess  is  hard, 
m}T  dear  Armand  ;  and  it  is  the  nature  of  such  women 
to  soften  only  under  blows.    Suffering  gives  them  a 
heart,  and  it  is  a  work  of  charity  to  strike  them.  When 
pain  has  wrung  their  nerves,  slackened  the  fibres  that 
you  think  so  tender,  made  the  heart  beat  back  to  elas- 
ticity, when  the  brain  yields,  —  ah,  then  passion  may 
enter  that  metallic  mechanism  of  tears  and  sighs  and 
tricks  and  touching  phrases  ;  then  you  will  see  the  most 
magnificent  of  conflagrations, — that  is  to  say,  if  the 
chimney  takes  fire.   That  *s  the  kind  of  female  steel  that 
burns  red  in  the  forge  and  comes  up  to  proof  :  out  of  it 
you  may  get  love,  though  I  doubt  it.    And  then,  more- 
over, is  your  duchess  worth  the  trouble?  Between 
ourselves,  she  might  better  have  fallen  to  a  man  like 
me.    I  should  have  made  a  charming  woman  of  her  ; 
she  has  race.    But  as  for  you  two,  you  will  stay  always 
at  the  A,  j5,  C  of  love.    Ah,  well  Î  you  care  for  her, 
and  }tou  can't  share  my  ideas  in  the  matter. 

'  '  AU  happiness  to  you  Î  "  added  Eonquerolles,  after 
a  pause,  laughing.  "For  my  part  I  declare  in  favor 
of  easy  women.  They  are  tender  :  they  love  natu- 
rally, without  all  these  social  condiments.    My  poor 


484 


Tiie  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


fellow,  what  is  a  woman  who  only  wants  to  inspire 
love?  Very  well  as  a  matter  of  luxur\',  very  amusing 
to  watch  at  her  little  game  of  Church  against  Eros, 
white  against  black,  her  majesty  against  a  fool,  scru- 
ples against  pleasure,  —  a  very  diverting  game  of  chess, 
I  admit,  which  a  man  who  knows  what  he  is  about 
would  check-mate  in  three  moves.  If  I  undertook  a 
woman  of  that  kind  I  should  —  " 

He  whispered  a  few  words  in  Armand's  ear,  and  went 
away  brusquely  that  he  might  not  hear  his  answer. 

As  for  Montriveau,  he  made  one  bound  across  the 
courtyard  of  the  Hôtel  de  Langeais,  went  up  to  the 
duchess  without  allowing  the  servants  to  announce 
him,  and  sought  her  in  her  bedroom. 

"  But  this  is  not  the  thing  !  "  she  said,  hastiïy  gather- 
ing her  dressing-robe  about  her.  "Leave  me,  I  beg 
of  you  !    Go,  go  !    Wait  for  me  in  the  salon.    Go  !  " 

"  M}T  angel  !  "  he  said,  "  has  a  husband  no  rights? " 

4  4  Your  manners  are  detestable,  Monsieur.  No  hus- 
band has  the  right  to  surprise  a  wife  in  this  way." 

He  came  up  to  her,  and  took  her  in  his  arms. 

"  Forgive  me,  dear  Antoinette,  but  my  mind  is  sud- 
denly filled  with  doubts,  suspicions." 

"  Suspicions?  for  shame  !  for  shame  !  " 

"  Suspicions  which  seem  almost  justified.  If  you 
loved  me,  would  you  now  quarrel  with  me?  Would 
you  not  rejoice  to  see  me  ?  Would  3-ou  not  feel  some  im- 
pulse of  the  heart?  I,  who  am  not  a  woman,  tremble  at 
the  very  tones  of  your  voice.  The  desire  to  fall  upon 
your  neck  has  often  assailed  me  in  the  midst  of  a  ball — " 

44  Oh,  if  3'ou  suspect  me  because  I  do  not  fall  upon 
your  breast  in  a  ball-room,  I  fear  I  shall  be  under 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


485 


suspicion  all  my  life  !  But  really,  in  comparison  with 
you  Othello  was  a  baby." 

"  Ah,"  he  said  in  despair,  "lam  not  loved  !  " 

"  At  least  you  will  admit,"  she  said,  "  that  you  are 
not  amiable." 

"  Have  I  still  to  seek  to  please  you?" 

"So  it  would  seem.  Come!  "  she  said,  with  a  little 
imperative  air,  "go,  leave  me!  I  am  not  like  you  ;  I 
do  seek  to  please  you.'3 

ZSTo  woman  knew  better  than  Madame  de  Langeais 
how  to  put  grace  into  her  insolence,  and  thus  double 
its  effect,  —  a  measure  which  renders  the  coldest  of  men 
furious.  At  this  moment  her  eyes,  the  tones  of  her 
voice,  her  attitudes,  all  expressed  an  ease  and  freedom 
which  could  not  have  been  felt  by  a  loving  woman  in 
presence  of  him  who  had  the  power  to  stir  her  heart. 
Armand,  his  wits  sharpened  by  Monsieur  de  Ronque- 
rolles,  and  still  farther  enlightened  by  the  rapid  percep- 
tion which  pain  momentarily  lends  even  to  the  least 
sagacious  of  men,  and  which  is  ail-powerfully  clear  in 
strong  minds,  divined  the  terrible  truth  which  the  self- 
possession  of  the  duchess  betrayed  :  his  spirit  rose  like 
a  wave  lashed  by  the  winds. 

"  If  you  spoke  the  truth  yesterday,  be  mine,  Antoi- 
nette !  "  he  cried.    "  I  will  —  " 

"In  the  first  place,"  she  said,  repelling  him  calmly, 
"  do  not  compromise  me  ;  my  waiting- woman  might  hear 
you.  Respect  me,  I  beg.  Your  familiarities  are  very 
well  in  the  evening,  in  my  boudoir  :  but  here  —  no. 
And  pray  what  signifies  your  '  I  will  '  ?  I  will  !  No 
one  ever  dared  to  say  that  to  me  before.  I  regard  if 
as  ridiculous,  —  perfectly  ridiculous." 


486  Tlie  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


"  You  will  not  yield  to  me  on  this  point?  " 

"  Ah,  you  call  it  a  point?  —  the  free  disposition  of 
onrselves  !  A  point,  truly,  of  some  importance  !  and 
you  will  permit  me  to  be,  on  this  point,  the  sole  judge." 

"  And  if,  trusting  to  your  promises,  I  exact  it?" 

'  '  Then  }tou  will  prove  to  me  that  I  have  done  wrong 
to  make  3-011  the  faintest  promises,  and  I  shall  not  be 
so  foolish  as  to  keep  them.  Have  the  goodness  to  leave 
me  in  peace." 

Montriveau  turned  very  pale,  and  was  about  to  spring 
forward.  The  duchess  rang,  and  as  her  maid  entered, 
she  said  with  mocking  courtes}^  "  Do  me  the  kindness 
to  wait  in  the  salon  till  I  am  visible." 

The  hardness  of  this  woman,  cold  and  cutting  as 
steel,  overbearing  in  her  contempt,  struck  home  to  the 
mind  of  Armand  de  Montriveau.  In  this  one  moment 
she  burst  the  bonds  that  held  him  to  her.  The  duchess 
had  read  on  Armand's  brow  the  meaning  of  this  sudden 
visit,  and  judged  that  the  moment  had  come  to  make 
the  imperial  soldier  know  that  a  duchess  might  lend 
herself  to  love,  but  give  herself  never  ;  and  that  the 
conquest  was  beyond  the  power  even  of  those  who  had 
conquered  Europe. 

"Madame,"  said  Montriveau,  "I  have  not  the  time 
to  wait.  I  am,  as  you  once  said,  a  spoiled  child  :  when 
I  seriously  wish  for  that  of  which  we  were  speaking 
just  now,  I  shall  have  it." 

"You  will  have  it?"  she  said  with  a  haughty  man- 
ner, in  which  was  mingled  some  surprise. 

"I  shall  have  it." 

"  Ah,  how  good  of  you  to  wish  it  !  As  a  matter  of 
curiosity  I  should  like  to  know  how  you  intend  to  get  it." 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


487 


"  I  am  enchanted,"  said  Montriveau,  laughing  in  a 
way  that  really  frightened  her,  "  to  have  put  an  interest 
into  jour  life.  "Will  you  permit  me  to  take  you  to  the 
ball  to-night?" 

"A  thousand  thanks,  but  Monsieur  de  Marsay  has 
preceded  you.    I  go  with  him." 

Montriveau  bowed  gravely,  and  withdrew.  "  Ron- 
querolles  was  right,"  he  said;  "it  is  to  be  a  game 
of  chess." 

From  that  moment  the  general  hid  his  feelings 
under  an  appearance  of  perfect  calmness,  though  no 
man  has  the  strength  to  bear  unshaken  the  rapid 
changes  his  soul  must  undergo  as  he  passes  from  the 
highest  happiness  to  supreme  despair.  Had  he  beheld 
a  life  of  happiness  only  to  feel  more  deeply  the  void  of 
his  existence?  It  was  a  terrible  tornado.  But  he  knew 
how  to  suffer  ;  and  he  bore  the  rush  of  his  tumultuous 
thoughts  as  the  granite  rock  receives  the  onset  of  an 
angry  ocean. 

"I  could  say  nothing  to  her;  in  her  presence  my 
thoughts  fail.  She  does  not  know  how  vile  and  des- 
picable she  is.  No  man  has  ever  dared  to  put  this 
woman  face  to  face  with  herself.  She  must  have  trifled 
with  many  men.    I  will  avenge  them  all  !  " 

For  the  first  time,  perhaps  in  the  heart  of  man,  love 
and  revenge  were  so  mingled  that  Montriveau  himself 
could  not  tell  for  some  time  which  had  the  ascendancy. 
He  went  to  the  ball,  where  he  knew  she  would  be, 
and  was  tempted  to  ascribe  something  diabolical  to  the 
gracious  manner  and  charming  smile  with  which  she 
greeted  him.    The  duchess  was  evidently  determined 


488 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


that  the  world  should  know  she  was  not  committed  to 
Montriveau.  A  mutual  coolness  would  have  betrayed 
love  ;  but  if  the  duchess  made  no  change  in  her  manner 
and  the  marquis  was  cold  and  distant,  it  was  apparent, 
of  course,  that  the  latter  had  gained  nothing  from  his 
suit.  The  world  is  quick  to  recognize  a  discarded  man, 
and  never  confounds  his  appearance  with  that  of  other 
men  whom  their  mistresses  direct  to  feign  coldness  in 
the  hope  of  disguising  mutual  love.  Every  one  smiled 
at  Montriveau,  who,  under  no  such  orders,  was  gloomy 
and  thoughtful.  Monsieur  de  Ronquerolles  would  have 
told  him  to  compromise  the  duchess  by  replying  to  her 
false  courtesies  with  demonstrations  of  devotion.  The 
general  left  the  ball-room  with  a  keen  disgust  for 
human  nature,  yet  hardly  able  to  believe  it  so  utterly 
perverted. 

"Since  there  is  no  public  executioner  for  such 
crimes,"  he  said,  looking  up  at  the  lighted  windows 
of  the  rooms  where  the  loveliest  women  in  Paris  were 
dancing  and  smiling,  "I  will  take  yon  by  the  neck, 
Madame  la  duchesse,  and  make  you  feel  a  blade  sharper 
than  that  of  the  Place  de  Grève.  Steel  to  steel  !  We 
will  see  whose  heart  can  be  cut  the  deepest." 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


489 


XII. 

During  the  following  week  Madame  de  Langeais 
continually  hoped  that  the  Marquis  de  Montriveau  would 
come  to  her  ;  but  he  contented  himself  by  sending  his  card 
eveiy  morning  to  the  Hôtel  de  Langeais.  Each  time  that 
this  card  was  brought  to  her  she  was  unable  to  repress  a 
shudder.  Dark  fears  rose  in  her  mind,  —  indistinct  as 
a  vague  presage  of  misfortune.  When  she  read  that  name 
she  felt  her  hair  in  the  grasp  of  his  strong  hand  ;  some- 
times it  threatened  vengeance,  which  her  active  fancy  im- 
aged as  atrocious.  She  had  studied  him  too  closely  not 
to  fear  him.  Would  he  assassinate  her?  This  man,  with 
the  neck  of  a  bull,  would  he  kill  her  with  a  toss  of  his 
horns  ;  would  he  trample  her  under  foot?  When,  how, 
where  would  he  seize  her?  Would  he  make  her  suffer? 
What  sort  of  suffering  was  he  now  preparing  for  her  ? 

She  repented.  There  were  moments  when  if  he  had 
come  to  her  she  would  have  flung  herself  Into  his  arms 
with  complete  surrender.  Every  night  as  she  went  to 
sleep  she  saw  his  image  under  some  new  aspect  :  some- 
times his  bitter  smile,  sometimes  the  frown  of  Jove  his 
brows  could  wear,  his  lion-look,  or  the  proud  motion 
of  his  shoulders  made  him  terrible  to  her  mind.  The 
next  day  the  name  on  the  card  would  seem  printed  in 
letters  of  blood.  She  lived  agitated  by  that  name  far 
more  than  she  had  ever  been  by  the  fiery,  obstinate, 
exacting  lover.    Then  as  the  silence  was  prolonged,  her 


490 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais, 


apprehensions  deepened.  She  was  forced  to  prepare 
herself,  in  solitude  and  without  external  succor,  for 
some  horrible  struggle  of  which  she  could  know  and 
guess  nothing.  Her  soul,  proud  and  hard,  was  more 
alive  to  the  sting  of  hatred  than  it  had  ever  been  to  the 
caress  of  love.  Oh,  if  the  general  could  have  seen  his 
mistress,  as  her  brows  darkened  with  bitter  thoughts  in 
the  recesses  of  that  boudoir  where  once  he  had  tasted 
the  sweetest  j'03's,  he  would  have  been  filled  with  hopes 
that  he  could  make  her  love  him  ! 

Pride,  after  all,  is  one  of  those  human  emotions  which 
give  birth  to  none  but  noble  actions.  Though  Madame 
de  Langeais  kept  the  secret  of  her  thoughts,  we  must 
believe  that  Monsieur  de  Montriveau  was  no  longer 
indifferent  to  her.  Is  it  not  an  immense  conquest  for 
a  man  to  absorb  a  woman's  mind  ?  It  involves  making 
progress  with  her  in  one  wajT  or  another.  Put  the 
feminine  creature  under  the  heels  of  a  maddened  horse 
or  some  other  terrible  animal,  she  will  fall,  of  course, 
upon  her  knees,  and  expect  death  ;  but  if  the  beast  is 
merciful  and  does  not  kill  her  at  once,  she  will  love  the 
horse,  the  lion,  the  bull,  and  speak  to  it  with  composure. 
The  duchess  felt  herself  at  the  feet  of  the  lion  ;  she 
trembled,  but  she  did  not  hate  him. 

These  two  persons,  thus  strangely  pitted  against  each 
other,  met  three  times  in  society  during  that  week. 
Each  time,  in  reply  to  her  winning  welcome,  the  duchess 
received  from  Montriveau  a  distant  bow  and  smiles 
which  conve}-ed  such  cruel  irony  that  all  the  terrors  of 
the  morning  were  renewed.  Life  is  what  our  feelings 
make  of  it  ;  and  between  these  two  persons  feeling  had 
now  hollowed  an  abyss. 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais.  491 


The  following  week  the  Comtesse  de  Sérizy,  sister  of 
the  Marquis  de  Ronquerolles,  gave  a  large  ball,  at  which 
Madame  de  Langeais  was  present.  The  first  person 
the  duchess  saw  on  entering  the  room  was  Armand,  and 
she  fancied  that  he  was  waiting  for  her.  They  ex- 
changed looks.  A  cold  sweat  suddenly  came  from 
every  pore  of  her  skin.  She  had  believed  Montriveau 
capable  of  some  unheard-of  vengeance  proportioned 
to  the  position  in  which  they  stood.  The  vengeance 
was  found  !  It  was  waiting,  it  was  hot,  it  was  seething 
over  !  The  eyes  of  her  betrayed  lover  darted  light- 
nings at  her,  and  a  satisfied  hatred  was  on  his  face. 
"With  the  utmost  desire  to  seem  cold  and  supercili- 
ous, the  duchess  remained  silent  and  oppressed.  She 
moved  to  the  side  of  Madame  de  Sérizy,  who  could  not 
forbear  saying  to  her,  — 

'  '  What  is  the  matter,  dear  Antoinette  ?  You  look 
frightfully." 

"  A  dance  will  restore  me,"  she  answered,  taking  the 
hand  of  a  young  man  who  then  came  up. 

She  began  to  waltz  with  a  sort  of  nervous  trans- 
port that  redoubled  the  contemptuous  gaze  of  Mon- 
triveau. He  stood  slightly  in  advance  of  the  circle 
which  surrounded  the  dancers,  and  each  time  that  the 
duchess  passed  him  his  eyes  seized  upon  her  revolv- 
ing head  as  a  tiger  seizes  upon  its  prey.  The  waltz 
over,  she  came  back  to  the  countess,  the  marquis  still 
watching  her  as  he  talked  with  a  stranger. 

"  Monsieur,"  he  said  to  his  companion,  "  one  of  the 
things  that  struck  me  most  in  England  —  " 

The  duchess  was  all  ears. 

44  Was  the  phrase  used  by  the  guard  at  Westminster 


492 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


as  he  showed  me  the  axe  with  which  the  masked  execu- 
tioner cut  off  the  head  of  Charles  I.  ;  he  quoted  from 
the  king  himself,  who  said  it  to  a  bystander." 

"  What  was  it?"  asked  Madame  de  Sériz}\ 

uDo  not  touch  the  axe"  answered  Montriveau  in  a 
tone  which  seemed  to  the  duchess  like  a  menace. 

"  Really,  Monsieur  le  marquis,"  she  said,  "you  look 
at  my  neck  with  such  a  melodramatic  air  as  3*ou  tell 
that  old  stoiy,  which  any  one  who  has  been  to  London 
knows  by  heart,  that  I  fancy  I  can  almost  see  the  axe 
in  your  hand." 

These  words  were  said  in  a  laughing  tone,  though  a 
cold  chill  was  running  through  her  veins. 

"The  story  is,  on  the  contrary,  a  new  one,"  he 
replied. 

"  Ah,  in  what  way  ?    Pray  tell  me." 

"In  this,  Madame,"  he  answered  in  a  low  voice: 
"you  have  touched  the  axe." 

"Delightful  prophecy!"  she  cried,  forcing  a  smile; 
"  and  when  is  nry  head  to  fall? " 

"I  do  not  wish  your  pretty  head  to  fall,  Madame. 
I  only  fear  that  some  great  misfortune  is  before 
you.  If  3  0U  were  beheaded,  would  }*ou  not  be  sorry 
to  lose  that  lovely  blond  hair,  which  you  employ  so 
well?" 

"There  are  those  for  whom  women  are  glad  to 
make  such  sacrifices  ;  3-et  sometimes  the}*  are  the 
ones  who  will  not  overlook  a  woman's  momentary  ill- 
humor." 

"Agreed.  Well,  if  at  once,  by  some  chemical  pro- 
cess, a  jester  were  to  take  away  3rour  beaut}'  and  make 
you  seem  a  hundred  years  old  —  " 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


493 


"Ah,  Monsieur,"  she  said,  interrupting  him,  "the 
small-pox  is  our  battle  of  Waterloo.  The  day  after  we 
have  lost  it  we  know  those  who  truly  love  us." 

'  '  Would  you  not  regret  that  lovely  complexion 
which  —  " 

"Yes,  very  much,  but  less  for  myself  than  for  him 
who  might  care  for  it.  Still,  if  I  were  sincerely  loved, 
always,  faithfully,  what  would  my  beauty  be  to  me? 
What  do  you  think,  Clara?" 

"  A  rash  discussion,"  answered  Madame  de  Beauséant. 

"  Might  I  ask  his  Majesty  the  king  of  the  sorcerers," 
continued  Madame  de  Langeais,  "when  I  committed 
the  sin  of  touching  the  axe,  — I,  who  have  never  been 
in  London  ?  " 

"  Not  so,"  he  said  with  a  mocking  laugh. 

"  When  is  the  execution  to  take  place?" 

Montriveau  drew  out  his  watch  and  looked  at  the 
hour  with  an  air  of  conviction  that  was  really  frightful. 
"  The  day  will  not  end  until  a  great  misfortune  has 
overtaken  you." 

"  I  am  not  a  child  to  be  easily  frightened,  — or  rather 
I  am  a  child  that  knows  no  danger,"  said  the  duchess  ; 
"  and  I  am  going  to  dance  on  the  verge  of  the  abyss." 

"Delighted,  Madame,  to  observe  your  strength  of 
mind,"  said  Montriveau,  as  she  left  him  to  take  her 
place  in  a  quadrille. 

Notwithstanding  her  apparent  disdain  for  the  dark 
predictions  of  her  lover,  the  duchess  fell  a  prey  to  mor- 
tal terror.  The  moral  and  even  physical  oppression 
under  which  he  held  her  scarcely  lessened  as  she  saw 
him  leave  the  room  ;  yet  after  the  momentary  relief  of 
breathing  at  her  ease  she  regretted  the  absence  of  fear, 


494 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


00  eager  is  the  female  nature  for  extremes  of  emotion. 
This  regret  was  not  love,  but  it  belonged  undoubtedly  to 
the  feelings  that  were  leading  up  to  it.  Presently  the 
fear  came  back  to  her  as  she  recalled  the  fixed  convic- 
tion with  which  he  foretold  the  hour  of  her  punishment. 
Unable  to  control  her  terror,  she  left  the  ball-room  to 
return  home.  It  was  then  about  midnight.  Those  of 
her  people  who  were  waiting  in  the  antechamber  put  on 
her  pelisse  and  went  to  call  up  the  carriage.  Once  seated 
in  it,  her  mind  was  absorbed  in  dwelling  upon  Monsieur 
de  Montriveau's  prediction.  The  carriage  reached  the 
courtyard,  and  she  entered  a  vestibule  that  closely  re- 
sembled her  own,  but  suddenly  perceived  that  the  stair- 
case was  not  hers.  She  turned  to  call  her  people,  and 
at  the  same  moment  several  men  seized  her,  tied  a 
handkerchief  over  her  mouth,  bound  her  hand  and  foot, 
and  carried  her  rapidly  away.    She  cried  out  loudly. 

"Madame,  we  have  orders  to  kill  you  if  you  make  a 
noise,"  said  a  voice  in  her  ear. 

The  terror  of  the  duchess  was  so  great  that  afterwards 
she  could  give  no  account  to  herself  of  the  direction  in 
which  she  was  carried.  When  she  recovered  her  senses 
she  was  lying,  bound  hand  and  foot  with  silken  cords, 
on  a  sofa  in  the  chamber  of  a  bachelor.  She  could  not 
keep  back  a  cry  as  she  encountered  the  eyes  of  Armand 
de  Montriveau  seated  quietly  in  an  arm-chair,  wrapped 
in  his  dressing-gown  and  smoking  a  cigar. 

"Make  no  noise,  Madame  la  duchesse,"  he  said, 
taking  his  cigar  from  his  lips,  "  my  head  aches  ;  besides, 

1  will  unfasten  those  cords.  But  you  will  be  so  good 
as  to  listen  to  what  I  have  the  honor  to  sa}r  to  you." 

He  gently  loosened  the  fastenings  that  bound  her. 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


495 


"  Your  cries  will  do  you  no  good  ;  no  one  can  hear 
them  ;  and  you  are  far  too  well-bred  to  make  a  useless 
disturbance.  If  you  are  not  quiet,  if  you  attempt  to 
struggle  with  me,  I  shall  bind  you  again.  I  believe, 
however,  all  things  considered,  that  you  respect  your- 
self enough  to  remain  as  yow.  are  upon  that  sofa,  as  if 
you  were  lying  upon  }*our  own,  cold  and  indifferent  as 
ever.  You  have  caused  me  to  shed  many  bitter  tears 
on  that  couch,  —  tears  hidden  from  the  eyes  of  others." 

As  Montriveau  spoke,  the  duchess  cast  about  her  that 
furtive  female  glance  which  sees  all,  even  when  it  appears 
most  abstracted.  She  liked  the  appearance  of  the  room, 
which  resembled  that  of  a  monk.  The  mind  and  char- 
acter of  the  master  prevaded  it.  No  ornament  relieved 
the  gray  unifornnt}-  of  the  wall  ;  the  floor  had  a  green 
carpet  ;  a  black  sofa,  a  table  covered  with  papers,  a 
chest  of  drawers  on  which  stood  an  alarm-clock,  two 
large  arm-chairs,  and  a  low  bed  over  which  was  thrown 
a  red  blanket  with  a  Grecian  border  in  black,  all  pro- 
claimed the  habits  of  a  life  brought  down  to  its  simplest 
needs.  A  branched  candlestick  on  the  chimney-piece 
recalled  by  its  Egyptian  shape  the  limitless  deserts  this 
man  had  traversed.  Between  the  bed,  whose  feet  like 
the  paws  of  the  Sphinx  appeared  below  the  folds  of  the 
red  drapeiy,  and  the  lateral  wall  of  the  chamber?  was  a 
door  hidden  by  a  green  curtain  with  red  and  black 
fringes,  held  by  large  rings  to  a  pole.  The  door  through 
which  the  unknown  hands  had  brought  the  duchess  had 
a  portiere  of  the  same  stuff  held  back  b}T  cords. 

As  the  duchess  glanced  at  the  curtains  to  compare 
them  with  each  other,  she  noticed  that  the  door  next 
to  the  bed  was  open,  and  that  a  ruddy  light  from  the 


496 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


adjoining  room  shone,  in  a  narrow  line,  at  the  foot 
of  the  curtain.  Her  curiosity  was  naturally  roused  by 
this  light,  which  enabled  her  to  see  darkly  through  the 
texture  of  the  stuff  strange  moving  shapes  ;  but  for  the 
moment  her  danger  could  not  come  from  thence,  and 
she  turned  her  mind  to  a  more  pressing  interest. 

4 'Monsieur,  is  it  an  indiscretion  to  ask  what  you 
intend  to  do  with  me?"  she  said  in  a  tone  of  cutting 
insolence. 

The  duchess  believed  she  heard  the  voice  of  exceeding 
love  in  Montriveau's  words  :  besides,  when  a  man  car- 
ries off  a  woman  must  it  not  mean  that  he  worships  her? 

"  Nothing  at  all,  Madame,"  he  answered,  giving  a 
last  puff  to  his  cigar.  '  '  You  are  here  for  a  short  time 
only.  I  wish  to  explain  to  you  what  you  are  and  what  I 
am.  When  3tou  are  attitudinizing  in  your  boudoir  I  am 
unable  to  express  nry  thoughts.  If  a  word  offends  you, 
you  pull  the  bell-rope  and  drive  your  lover  from  you  as 
if  he  were  a  beggar.  Here  my  mind  is  free  ;  here  no 
one  can  dismiss  me.  Here  you  will  be  my  victim  for  a 
few  moments,  and  }'OU  will  have  the  goodness  to  listen 
to  me.  Fear  nothing.  I  have  not  brought  you  here  to 
insult  you  ;  or  to  obtain  from  you  by  violence  that  which 
I  have  not  won, — that  which  you  were  not  willing  to 
grant  to  my  affection.  It  would  be  unworthy  of  me. 
You  perhaps  may  conceive  of  it  ;  I  cannot." 

He  threw  his  cigar  into  the  fire  with  a  careless  motion. 

"  Perhaps  the  smoke  annoys  you,  Madame?" 

He  rose,  took  a  pastile  from  the  chimne}'-piece, 
lighted  it,  and  purified  the  room.  The  amazement  of 
the  duchess  was  equalled  only  by  her  humiliation.  She 
was  in  the  power  of  this  man,  and  he  did  not  intend  to 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


497 


abuse  it  !  Those  eyes,  once  flaming  with  love,  were 
now  calm  and  fixed  as  the  stars.  She  trembled  ;  the 
terror  with  which  he  inspired  her  was  intensified  by 
a  keen  sensation  analogous  to  the  motionless  convul- 
sions of  a  nightmare.  She  lay  gripped  by  fear,  fan- 
cying she  saw  the  lurid  light  behind  the  curtain  grow 
more  vivid,  as  if  blown  by  bellows.  Suddenly  the  glow 
deepened;  she  saw  distinctly  three  masked  men,  and 
then  the  whole  vanished  so  suddenly  that  she  fancied 
it  might  have  been  an  optical  delusion. 

"Madame,"  resumed  Armand,  looking  at  her  with 
contemptuous  coldness,  "  a  moment,  a  single  moment, 
will  suffice  to  strike  you  through  every  moment  of  your 
future  life,  —  it  is  the  only  future  that  remains  for  us. 
I  am  not  God.  Listen  to  me  attentively,"  he  added, 
making  a  pause  as  if  to  give  solemnity  to  his  words. 
4  '  Love  will  always  come  at  your  will  :  you  have  a 
power  that  is  unlimited  over  men.  Recollect  that  one 
day  you  called  to  you  a  man's  love.  It  came,  pure,  hon- 
est, —  as  much  so  as  it  ever  was  or  could  be  upon  this 
earth  ;  as  respectful  as  it  was  violent  ;  tender  as  the 
love  of  a  woman,  or  that  of  a  mother  for  her  child  ;  so 
vast,  that  it  became  a  folly.  You  trifled  with  that  love  ; 
you  were  guilty  of  crime.  It  is  a  woman's  right  to  refuse 
the  love  she  does  not  share.  The  man  who  cannot  win 
her  is  never  pitied  ;  he  has  no  cause  for  complaint. 
But,  Madame  la  duchesse,  to  feign  love,  and  draw  to 
yourself  a  man  deprived  of  natural  affections  ;  to 
teach  him  the  knowledge  of  happiness  in  all  its  plenti- 
tude  only  to  tear  it  from  him  ;  to  rob  his  life  of  joy  ;  to 
kill  him  not  for  time  but  for  eternity  ;  to  poison  every 
hour,  every  thought,  —  that  I  denounce  as  crime  —  " 

32 


498 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais, 


"  Monsieur  !  " 

"  I  cannot  permit  you  to  answer  me  yet.  Listen 
again  :  I  have  rights  over  you,  though  I  shall  exert 
only  those  of  a  judge  over  a  criminal.  If  }*ou  had  no 
conscience  I  should  not  blame  }'ou.  But  you  are  so 
young,  surely  you  must  have  the  life  of  youth  in  your 
heart  ;  at  least  I  like  to  think  so.  You  are  not  too  de- 
graded to  feel  the  meaning  of  my  words,  though  you 
have  debased  yourself  to  commit  a  crime  unpunishable 
by  law." 

At  this  moment  the  duchess  heard  the  dull  sound  of 
bellows  with  which  the  unknown  figures  seemed  to  rouse 
the  waning  fire  whose  light  now  shot  through  the  cur- 
tain ;  but  Montriveau's  lightning  glance  compelled  her  to 
be  still  and  fix  her  e}Tes  upon  him  ;  his  words  indeed  were 
more  to  her  than  the  crackling  of  that  mysterious  flame. 

"Madame,"  he  continued  after  a  pause,  "  when  the 
executioner  puts  his  hand  upon  a  hapless  wretch,  and 
la}Ts  his  neck  upon  the  plank  where  the  law  demands 
that  an  assassin  shall  lose  his  head,  you  know  of  it, 
every  one  knows  of  it,  for  the  newspapers  inform  both 
rich  and  poor,  —  the  rich  that  they  may  sleep  in  peace  -, 
the  poor  that  they  may  take  warning.  Then  }^ou  who 
are  religious  and  even  devout,  jtou  hasten  to  offer 
masses  for  the  soul  of  that  assassin  ;  and  yet  —  you 
are  one  of  the  same  stock,  the  elder  branch  of  it. 
Your  branch  fears  nothing  ;  you  can  live  happy  and 
careless.  Driven  by  hunger  or  rage  your  brother,  the 
galley-slave,  has  killed  a  man  ;  you  —  }Tou  have  slain  a 
man's  happiness,  his  life,  his  faith.  The  other  waited 
for  his  victim  openly,  and  slew  him  at  his  own  risk  in 
spite  of  the  terrors  of  the  guillotine  ;  but  you  !  —  you 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


499 


have  heaped  wrongs  upon  one  who  was  innocent  of 
wrong  to  you  ;  3-011  tamed  a  heart  that  you  might  de- 
vour it  at  your  ease  ;  you  enticed  it  with  caresses, 
omitting  none  that  could  lead  it  on  to  desire  all  ;  you 
required  sacrifices  that  you  might  discard  them  ;  you 
made  that  man  see  the  light,  and  then  you  struck  him 
blind.  A  noble  courage  !  Such  infamies  are  luxu- 
ries unknown  to  the  commoner  women  at  whom  30U 
sneer.  The}-  at  least  know  how  to  give  and  to  forgive  ; 
they  love  and  suffer.  They  make  men  paltry  by  the 
grandeur  of  their  devotion.  Go  higher  in  societj-,  and 
we  find  all  the  mud  of  the  streets,  but  it  is  hardened 
and  gilded.  Yes,  to  find  that  which  is  absolutely  igno- 
ble we  must  look  for  education,  a  great  name,  a  beau- 
tiful woman,  a  duchess.  To  fall  so  low,  one  must  be 
,  born  so  high  !  "    He  paused  a  moment. 

"  I  express  myself  ill  :  I  suffer  from  the  wounds  you 
have  given,  but  I  do  not  complain  of  them.  No,  my 
words  are  not  the  expression  of  personal  hope,  neither 
do  the}r  contain  personal  bitterness.  Rest  assured, 
Madame,  that  I  forgive  3-011  ;  and  this  forgiveness  is 
so  full  that  3-ou  cannot  complain  that  I  have  brought 
you  here,  though  against  your  will.  Nevertheless,  3-ou 
ma3T  make  other  hearts  suffer  as  mine  has  suffered.  In 
their  interest  I  am  inspired  with  a  desire  for  justice. 
Expiate  3-our  fault,  and  God  may  pardon  3-ou,  —  at 
least  I  hope  so." 

At  these  words  the  eyes  of  the  woman  now  beaten 
down  and  torn  in  mind  filled  with  tears. 

"Why  do  3-ou  weep?  Be  faithful  to  your  nature. 
You  have  watched  without  pityr  the  tortures  of  a  heart 
you  have  broken.    Others  may  tell  you  that  }tou  give 


500 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


them  life  ;  to  me  you  have  given  annihilation.  Perhaps 
you  have  guessed  that  I  do  not  belong  to  myself;  per- 
haps you  will  tell  me  to  live  for  friends,  and  bear  the 
chill  of  death,  the  grief  of  life,  with  them.  Is  that  your 
thought  ?  it  is  kind  indeed  !  Are  you  like  the  tigers  of 
the  wilderness  who  make  the  wound  and  then  lick  it?  " 
The  duchess  burst  into  tears. 

"  Spare  yourself  those  tears,  Madame.  If  I  believed 
in  them  at  all  it  would  be  as  a  warning.  Are  they  or 
are  they  not  one  of  your  stratagems  ?  After  all  those 
that  I  have  seen  you  employ,  how  could  I  believe  in 
3'our  emotions  ?  Nothing  about  you  has  the  power  to 
move  me  now.    I  have  said  all." 

Madame  de  Langeais  rose  with  a  movement  that  was 
full  of  dignity  and  }*et  was  humble. 

"  You  have  the  right  to  treat  me  harshly,"  she  said, 
holding  out  to  him  a  hand  which  he  did  not  take. 
*  '  Your  words  are  not  harsh  enough.  I  deserve  this 
punishment." 

''Punishment!  Madame,  I  punish  you?  To  punish 
is  to  love.  Expect  nothing  from  me  that  resembles 
feeling.  I  might  indeed  on  my  own  behalf  be  accuser, 
judge,  and  executioner  ;  but,  no,  —  I  shall  accomplish 
presently  a  duty,  not  a  revenge.  The  worst  vengeance 
to  my  thinking  is  to  disdain  that  which  is  in  our  hands. 
Who  knows  ?  perhaps  I  shall  be  the  minister  of  your  fu- 
ture happiness.  In  bearing,  as  you  will,  the  mark  of  your 
criminality,  you  may  be  forced  to  the  repentant  life  of  a 
criminal.    Then,  perhaps,  }tou  may  learn  to  love  !  " 

The  duchess  listened  with  a  submission  that  was 
neither  feigned  nor  calculated.  She  spoke,  after  an 
interval  of  silence  ;  — 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais.  501 


"Armand,"  she  said,  "I  thought  that  in  resisting 
love  I  obeyed  the  chaste  instincts  of  a  woman  ;  and  it 
was  not  from  you  that  I  expected  such  reproach.  You 
take  my  weakness  and  call  it  crime.  Did  you  not  see 
that  I  was  sometimes  drawn  beyond  my  duty  by  the 
thoughts,  unknown  to  me,  of  love  ;  and  that  on  the 
morrow  I  was  grieved,  distressed,  at  having  gone  so 
far?  Alas!  I  sinned  through  ignorance.  There  was, 
I  swear  to  you,  as  much  good  faith  in  the  minutes 
when  I  yielded  to  my  feelings  as  there  was  in  the  hours 
of  my  remorse.  And  then,  what  is  it  you  complain  of  ? 
The  gift  of  my  heart  did  not  suffice,  you  demanded 
brutally  -  " 

"Brutally!"  exclaimed  Montriveau  ;  then  he  said 
within  himself,  "If  I  enter  a  war  of  words  with 
her  I  am  lost." 

"Yes,  you  came  to  me  as  to  some  bad  woman; 
without  respect,  with  none  of  the  courtesies  of  love^ 
Had  I  not  the  right  to  pause,  to  reflect?  "Well,  I  have 
reflected.  "What  was  unseemly  in  your  conduct  is  ex- 
cusable c  Love  was  its  motive  ;  let  me  think  so,  and 
justify  you  to  my  own  heart.  Armand,  to-night  as 
you  uttered  that  prophecy  of  evil  I  was  thinking  of  our 
happiness.  I  had  confidence  in  the  noble  character 
of  which  you  have  given  me  so  many  proofs.  I  was 
all  yours  —  "  she  added,  bending  to  his  ear.  "Yes, 
I  had  a  strange  new  desire  to  give  happiness  to  a  man 
so  sorely  tried  by  adversity.  Master  for  master  !  I 
asked  for  a  noble  man.  The  higher  I  felt  myself,  the 
less  I  could  look  down.  Trusting  in  you,  I  thought  of 
a  lifetime  of  love  at  the  moment  you  predicted  death. 
Strength  is  never  without  mercy  :  my  friend,  you  are 


502 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


too  strong  to  be  cruel  to  a  poor  woman  who  loves  yow. 
If  my  faults  have  been  many,  will  you  not  forgive 
them?  Let  me  repair  them:  repentance  is  the  grace 
of  love,  and,  oh  !  I  would  be  gracious  to  thee  !  Could 
1  alone  of  all  women  be  without  fears,  doubts,  timidi- 
ties, before  the  step  that  was  to  bind  my  life,  —  that  tie 
that  men  break  so  easily  ?  Those  common  women  to 
whom  you  compare  me,  the}T  3'ield,  but  they  struggle. 
I  too  have  struggled,  but  —  I  am  here.  Oh,  God  !  "  she 
cried,  interrupting  herself,  "he  will  not  hear  me!'* 
she  wrung  her  hands.  "  But  I  love  thee  !  I  am  thine  !  " 
she  fell  at  his  feet  :  "  thine  !  thine  !  my  only  master  !  " 

"Madame,"  said  Armand,  offering  to  raise  her, 
"  Antoinette  cannot  save  the  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 
I  trust  neither  the  one  nor  the  other.  You  give  your- 
self to-da}',  you.  will  refuse  yourself  to-morrow.  No 
power  in  earth  or  heaven  can  assure  me  of  the  gentle 
fidelity  of  your  love.  Pledges  were  for  the  past,  —  our 
past  is  gone  forever." 

At  this  moment  the  red  light  blazed  up  so  vividly 
that  the  duchess  involuntarily  turned  her  head  towards 
the  portiere  and  saw  distinctly  three  masked  men. 

"  Armand,"  she  said,  "  I  would  not  think  ill  of  you. 
Why  are  those  men  here  ?  What  are  you  preparing  to 
do  to  me  ?  " 

"Those  men  are  as  silent  as  I  shall  be  myself  on 
all  that  passes  here  :  they  are  my  hands  and  my  heart. 
One  of  them  is  a  surgeon  —  " 

"  A  surgeon  !  "  she  said.  "  Armand  —  my  friend  !  un- 
certain t}r  is  great  suffering.  Speak,  tell  me  if  you  seek 
my  life.   I  will  give  it  to  you  ;  you  need  not  take  it." 

"  You  have  not  understood  me,"  said  Montriveau, 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


503 


"Did  I  not  speak  to  you  of  justice?  To  quiet  your 
fears,"  he  added  coldly,  taking  a  piece  of  steel  which 
lay  upon  the  table,  "  I  will  explain  what  I  haye  decided 
to  do  to  you." 

He  showed  her  a  small  cross  of  two  bars,  fastened  to 
the  end  of  the  steel.  ki  My  mends  are  heating  a  cross 
like  this  ;  we  shall  apply  it  to  your  forehead,  —  there, 
between  the  eyes,  where  you  cannot  hide  it  with  dia- 
monds, and  escape  the  inquiries  of  your  world.  You 
will  bear  upon  your  brow  a  mark  as  infamous  as  that 
which  brands  the  shoulder  of  your  brother,  the  conyict 
The  pain  will  be  nothing  ;  but  I  feared  some  agitation, 
some  resistance — " 

ki  Resistance  !  "  she  cried,  striking  her  hands  joyfully 
together.  ';  Xo  Î  no  !  I  would  that  all  the  world  were 
here  to  see  it.  Ah,  my  Armand,  quick  !  mark,  mark  thy 
creature  as  a  poor  little  thing  of  thine  !  Proofs  of  my 
love  ?  they  are  all  here  in  one.  Ah,  I  see  only  mercy 
and  pardon,  happiness  unspeakable,  in  thy  revenge. 
When  thou  hast  marked  me  for  thine  own,  when  my 
soul  humblj*  bears  thy  red  cipher,  thou  canst  not  aban- 
don me.  Then,  then,  I  am  forever  thine  !  Isolate  me  from 
the  world,  for  thou  wilt  take  care  of  me  :  if  not,  thou 
wouldst  be  a  coward,  —  and  I  know  thee  noble,  great. 
Ah,  the  woman  who  loves  will  mark  herself  !  Come,  gen- 
tlemen, come  quickly  !  brand  the  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 
She  belongs  to  Monsieur  de  Montriveau  now  and  ever. 
Come  !  all  of  you  !  my  forehead  burns  hotter  than  your 
iron." 

Armand  turned  quickly  that  he  might  not  see  the 
duchess  kneeling  before  him.  He  said  a  word,  and  his 
friends  disappeared  from  the  adjoining  room.  Women 


504  The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


accustomed  to  the  life  of  salo?is  understand  the  play  of 
mirrors  :  the  duchess,  eager  to  read  his  heart,  watched 
him  in  the  one  that  was  before  her.  Unconscious  of 
this,  Montriveau  wiped  away  a  tear.  The  whole  future 
of  the  duchess  seemed  in  that  tear  ;  and  when  he  turned 
to  raise  her  she  was  standing.  She  believed  he  loved 
her  ;  and  the  shock  was  terrible  when  he  said,  with  that 
incisive  firmness  she  had  herself  so  often  used  when  she 
was  trifling  with  him,  — 

"  I  absolve  you,  Madame.  Believe  me,  this  scene 
will  be  as  if  it  bad  never  taken  place.  But  here  and 
now  we  say  farewell.  I  like  to  believe  that  you  were 
sincere  in  your  boudoir  in  your  seductions,  and  sin- 
cere now  in  this  outpouring  of  your  heart.  Farewell  1 
my  faith  is  dead.  You  would  torment  me  still;  the 
duchess  would  be  alwaj's  there.  Ah,  no  matter  ;  fare- 
well, we  can  never  understand  each  other. 

"What  would  you  like  to  do?"  he  added,  changing 
his  tone  to  that  of  a  master  of  ceremonies.  "  Will  you 
go  home  ;  or  would  }'ou  like  to  return  to  Madame  de 
Sérizy  ?  I  have  employed  all  my  power  to  protect  your 
reputation  ;  neither  your  people  nor  society  can  ever 
know  what  has  happened  during  the  last  hour.  Your 
people  think  you  still  at  the  ball;  3-our  carriage  is  in 
Madame  de  Sérizy's  courtyard,  your  coupé  is  in  your 
own.    Where  would  you  like  to  go?" 

"  What  do  you  think  best,  Armand?  " 

u  There  is  no  Armand  here,  Madame  la  duchesse. 
We  are  strangers  to  each  other." 

"Take  me  to  the  ball,  then,"  she  said,  wishing  to  put 
his  power  to  the  proof.  "  Throw  back  into  the  purga- 
tory of  the  world  a  woman  who  has  suffered  and  muet 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais.  505 


continue  to  suffer  there,  since  for  her  there  can  be  no 
joy.  Oh,  my  friend,  I  do  love  you,  —  even  as  those 
commoner  women  love.  I  would  put  my  arms  about 
your  neck  in  the  ball-room,  if  you  asked  it.  The  world 
is  vile,  but  it  has  not  corrupted  me.  I  am  young,  and 
love  has  made  me  younger.  Yes,  I  am  a  child, — thy 
child,  for  thou  hast  created  me.  Oh,  Armand  !  do  not 
banish  me  from  my  Eden  !  " 
Montriveau  made  a  gesture. 

"  If  I  must  go,  let  me  take  something  with  me,  some 
trifle,  —  this,  to  put  upon  my  heart  to-night,"  she  said, 
picking  up  one  of  his  gloves  and  folding  it  in  her  hand- 
kerchief. "No,"  she  continued,  "I  am  not  of  that 
depraved  world  of  heartless  women.  You  do  not  know 
them,  or  you  would  distinguish  me  from  them.  Some 
give  themselves  for  money,  some  for  jewels  ;  all  are  vile. 
And  yet,  nry  Armand,  there  are  those  among  us  who  are 
noble,  chaste,  and  pure.  Would  that  I  had  all  their  noble 
qualities  to  place  them  at  }'our  feet  !  Do  you  seek  a  love 
beneath  3*011,  rather  than  one  whose  devotion  is  allied  to 
greatness?  Then,  oh.  my  Armand  !  I  would  be  a  simple 
bourgeoise,  a  working- woman,  to  please  thee.  Misfor- 
tune has  made  me  a  duchess,  —  and  yet  I  would  I  were 
born  near  the  throne  that  I  might  lay  down  all  for  thee  !  " 

He  listened,  moistening  a  cigar. 

"  Let  me  know  when  you  are  ready  to  go,"  he  said. 

"  But  if  I  wish  to  stay?" 

44  That  is  another  thing." 

"Look,  this  one  is  ill  made,"  she  cried,  taking  a 
cigar,  and  putting  it  to  her  lips. 
41  What!  you  smoke?"  he  said. 
44 1  would  do  all  things  to  please  you." 


506 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


"  Very  'well  :  then  go,  Madame  !  " 
" 1  obey,"  she  answered,  weeping. 
"  Cover  3Tour  eyes  that  you  may  not  see  the  way  by 
which  I  take  you. 

"  I  am  ready,  Armand,"  she  said,  blindfolding  herself. 

"  Can  you  see?" 

"No." 

He  softly  knelt  at  her  feet. 

"Ah,  I  hear  thee!"  she  exclaimed,  with  a  lovely 
gesture  of  joj-,  for  she  thought  his  feigned  harshness 
was  about  to  cease. 

He  offered  to  kiss  her  lips  ;  she  bent  towards  him. 

"  You  can  see,  Madame?" 

"  A  little." 

"  You  deceive  me  again  !  always  !  " 

"  Ah  !  "  she  said,  with  the  anger  of  an  honor  mis- 
understood, "take  off  this  handkerchief  and  lead  me, 
Monsieur  ;  I  shall  not  open  my  e37es." 

Armand,  convinced  by  this  cry,  led  forward  the  duch- 
ess, nobly  blind  ;  and  as  he  held  her  hand  with  paternal 
care  to  show  her  where  to  place  her  feet,  and  how  to  go  up 
or  down,  he  studied  the  quivering  pulses  which  betrayed 
a  heart  now  throbbing  with  a  first  true  love.  Madame 
de  Langeais,  happy  in  being  able  thus  to  speak  to  him, 
tried  to  tell  him  all  ;  but  he  remained  inflexible.  When 
her  hand  questioned  his,  he  gave  no  answering  pressure. 
At  last  he  told  her  to  step  forward  alone  ;  she  obeyed. 
As  she  did  so  he  held  back  her  dress  that  it  might  not 
catch  in  a  narrow  aperture  through  which  she  passed. 
Madame  de  Langeais  was  deeply  touched  by  this  little 
action  ;  it  betrayed  a  lingering  love.  It  was  in  fact  Mon- 
triveau's  last  farewell  ;  he  left  her  without  another  word. 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais.  507 


xm. 

"When  she  felt  herself  alone  in  a  -warm  atmosphere 
the  duchess  opened  her  eyes.  She  saw  that  she  was 
in  Madame  de  Sérizy's  boudoir,  and  her  first  care  was 
to  arrange  the  disorder  of  her  dress  and  restore  the 
poetry  of  her  coiffure. 

44  My  dear  Antoinette,"  exclaimed  the  countess, 
opening  the  door  of  the  boudoir,  "  we  have  looked  for 
you  everywhere." 

44  I  came  here  for  a  little  fresh  air,"  she  said  ;  44  it  is 
so  intolerably  warm  in  the  salo?is." 

44  We  thought  you  had  left,  but  my  brother  Eon- 
querolles  told  me  your  people  were  still  waiting  for 
you." 

"I  am  very  tired,  dear  ;  let  me  rest  here  for  awhile." 

44  What  is  the  matter?  you  are  trembling." 

The  Marquis  de  Ronquerolles  entered.  44 1  fear, 
Madame  la  duchesse,  that  some  accident  may  happen 
to  you.  I  have  just  seen  your  coachman,  and  he  is 
as  drunk  as  the  Twenty -two  Cantons." 

The  duchess  did  not  answer  :  she  was  looking  at 
the  chimney,  the  mirrors,  the  walls,  — ■  striving  to  detect 
the  opening  through  which  she  had  passed.  Then  the 
overpowering  sense  of  being  thrust  back  into  the  ga3'e- 
ties  of  a  ball-room  after  the  terrible  scene  which  had 
changed  forever  the  current  of  her  life  overcame  hers 
and  she  began  to  tremble  violently. 


508 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais, 


"  M}r  nerves  are  shaken  b}-  that  prediction  of  Mon- 
sieur de  Montriveau,"  she  said,  "  though  it  was  only  a 
jest.  I  must  go  home  and  see  if  the  London  axe  will 
pursue  me  in  rny  dreams.  Adieu,  dear  ;  adieu,  Monsieur 
le  marquis." 

She  crossed  the  ball-rooms,  detained  frequently  by 
flatterers  whom  she  looked  at  with  strange  pity.  She 
felt  how  small  her  world  had  been  when  she,  its  queen, 
was  thus  humbled  and  abased.  Oh  !  what  were  all  these 
men  beside  the  one  she  loved,  —  compared  to  him  whose 
character,  freed  from  the  pettiness  she  had  forced  upon 
it,  now  stood  forth  in  her  mind,  perhaps  with  fond  ex 
aggeration,  in  the  noblest  proportions? 

She  found  her  servants  waiting  and  asleep. 

'  '  Have  you  left  the  antechamber  this  evening  ?  "  she 
asked. 

44  No,  Madame." 

As  she  got  into  her  carriage  she  saw  that  her  coach- 
man was  drunk,  —  a  danger  which  would  have  frightened 
her  under  other  circumstances,  but  the  great  shocks  of 
life  arrest  all  vulgar  fears.  She  reached  home  safety  ; 
but  knew  herself  changed  and  in  the  grasp  of  an  un- 
known emotion.  For  her  there  was  from  henceforth 
but  one  man  in  the  world  ;  that  is  to  say,  for  one  only 
did  she  desire  to  have  a  value.  If  physiologists  can 
promptly  define  love  by  the  light  of  the  laws  of  na- 
ture, moralists  find  far  more  difficulty  in  explaining 
it  when  considered  with  the  developments  given  to  it 
by  society.  Nevertheless  there  exists,  in  spite  of  the 
heresies  of  the  thousand  and  one  sects  that  divide  the 
church  of  love,  a  straight  and  clear-cut  line  passing 
sharply  through  their  doctrines  ;  a  line  which  discussion 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais.  509 

cannot  bend,  and  whose  inflexible  truth  explains  the 
crisis  into  which  the  Duchesse  de  Langeais,  like  man}r 
other  women,  was  now  plunged.  She  did  not  love  as 
yet:  she  had  a  passion. 

Love  and  passion  are  two  states  of  the  soul  which 
poets,  men  of  the  world,  philosophers,  and  fools  con- 
tinually confound.  Love  carries  with  it  a  mutuality 
of  feeling,  a  certainty  of  joys  that  nothing  can  take 
away,  a  constant  interchange  of  happiness,  and  a 
confidence  between  two  beings  so  complete  as  to  ex- 
clude all  jealousy.  Possession  is  then  a  means,  not  an 
end.  Infidelity  may  cause  suffering,  but  cannot  detach 
love.  The  soul  is  not  more,  nor  is  it  less,  ardent  or 
agitated  ;  it  is  ceaselessly  happy.  Spread  through  all 
time,  as  if  by  a  divine  breath,  desire  takes  but  one 
tint  ;  the  sky  of  life  is  blue  as  the  blue  of  the  purest 
heavens. 

Passion  is  the  foreteller  of  love  and  its  infinitudes, 
to  which  all  suffering  souls  aspire.  Passion  is  hope, 
which  may  be  deceived.  Passion  signifies  both  suffer- 
ing and  change  ;  passion  ceases  when  hope  is  dead. 
Men  and  women  can,  without  dishonoring  themselves, 
feel  more  than  one  passion  :  is  it  not  natural  for  the 
heart  to  stretch  out  towards  joy  ?  In  life  there  is  but 
one  love.  All  discussions  written  or  spoken  upon  this 
feeling  may  be  summed  up  in  two  questions  :  Is  it  a 
passion  ?    Is  it  love  ? 

As  love  cannot  exist  without  the  mutual  joys  that 
perpetuate  it,  the  duchess  was  now  under  the  yoke  of 
passion  :  she  was  passing  through  the  consuming  agi- 
tation, the  parching  desires,  the  involuntary  calculations, 
that  are  expressed  by  the  one  word  passioii.  She 


510 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


suffered.  Amid  these  troubles  of  her  soul  rose  the 
iesser  tumults  of  vanity,  self-love,  pride,  and  dignity,— 
forms  of  egotism  which  are  allied  to  each  other.  She 
had  said  to  a  man  :  "I  love  thee  —  I  am  thine  !  " 
Could  the  Duchesse  de  Langeais  say  these  words  in 
vain?  Either  he  must  love  her,  or  she  must  lay  down 
her  social  sceptre.  She  wrung  her  hands  and  writhed 
upon  her  bed,  crying  out:  "I  must  be  loved!"  and 
the  faith  she  still  kept  in  herself  revived  her  courage. 
The  duchess  was  stung,  the  proud  Parisian  was  humi- 
liated ;  but  the  true  woman  clung  to  hope,  and  her 
imagination,  resenting  the  lost  time  of  joy,  went  before 
to  picture  the  inextinguishable  happiness  of  love.  She 
well-nigh  attained  to  a  perception  of  it  ;  for  as  a  doubt 
of  Montriveau's  affection  stung  her,  she  found  a  sudden 
joy  in  sa}'ing  to  herself,  "I  love  him  !  "  The  world  and 
the  Church  —  she  was  ready  to  lay  them  at  his  feet: 
Armand  was  her  religion. 

Madame  de  Langeais  passed  the  following  day  in  a 
species  of  moral  coma,  joined  to  bodily  agitations  that 
nothing  can  express.  She  tore  up  many  letters  as  soon 
as  she  had  written  them  ;  and  allowed  her  mind  to  float 
on  impossible  conjectures.  She  tried  to  believe  that 
Montriveau  would  come  to  her  at  the  hour  of  his  former 
visits,  and  waited  for  it  eagerly  :  her  whole  being  was 
concentrated  on  the  single  sense  of  hearing.  She 
closed  her  eyes  at  times  that  she  might  force  herself 
to  listen,  as  it  were,  through  space  :  then  came  the  wish 
to  annihilate  all  substances  between  herself  and  her 
love,  that  she  might  obtain  that  absolute  silence  which 
allows  sound  to  reach  us  from  long  distances.  In  this 
concentration  of  her  mind  the  ticking  of  the  clock  in 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais.  511 


the  boudoir  was  agony  to  her  ;  it  was  like  a  sinister 
foreboding  chatter,  and  she  stopped  it.  Midnight 
sounded  from  the  salon. 

4 6 My  God!"  she  cried,  "to  see  him  would  be  joy. 
Once  he  came  drawn  by  love  ;  his  voice  rilled  this 
room,  —  and  now,  vacancy  !  nothing  !  " 

Remembering  those  scenes  of  coquetry  that  once  she 
played  to  his  injury,  tears  of  despair  flowed  down  her 
cheeks. 

"Madame  la  duchesse  is  perhaps  not  aware  that  it 
is  two  in  the  morning,"  said  her  waiting- woman.  "I 
feared  that  Madame  was  ill." 

"Tes,  I  am  going  to  bed:  but  remember,  Susette, 
never  to  enter  my  room  unless  I  ring.  I  shall  not  tell 
you  twice." 

For  a  week  Madame  de  Langeais  went  to  all  the 
houses  where  she  hoped  to  meet  Monsieur  de  Mon- 
triveau.  Contrary  to  her  custom  she  went  early  and 
came  away  late.  She  gave  up  dancing,  and  played 
cards.  Fruitless  expectation  !  She  neither  saw  him, 
nor  dared  to  utter  his  name.  At  last,  overcome  by  a 
momentary  despair,  she  said  one  morning  to  Madame 
de  Sérizy  with  as  much  indifference  as  she  could  as- 
sume :  "Have  you  quarrelled  with  Monsieur  de  Mon- 
triveau  ?  I  have  not  seen  him  at  your  house  lately  ?  " 

"No,  he  does  not  come  any  more,"  answered  the 
countess  laughing;  "he  does  not  go  anywhere.  He 
is  probably  occupied  with  some  woman." 

"I  thought,"  said  the  duchess  gently,  "that  the 
Marquis  de  Ronquerolles  was  intimate  with  him?" 

"  I  never  heard  my  brother  say  that  he  even  knew 
him." 


512 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais, 


Madame  de  Langeais  made  no  reply.  Madame  de 
Sérizy  took  advantage  of  her  silence  to  lash  a  friendship 
which  had  long  been  bitter  to  her,  and  she  resumed,  — 

"  Do  you  regret  that  gloomy  individual?  I  have 
heard  shocking  things  about  him.  Wound  him,  and  they 
sa}^  he  never  forgives  ;  love  him,  and  he  will  put  you 
in  chains.  When  I  complain  of  him,  I  am  told  by  those 
who  laud  him  to  the  skies  that  he  knows  how  to  love. 
I  am  constantly  told  of  his  great  heart,  of  his  devotion 
to  his  friends.  Bah  !  societ}-  does  not  want  such  noble 
souls.  Men  of  that  kind  are  all  very  well  among  each 
other,  but  I  wish  they  would  sta}'  there  and  leave  us  to  our 
own  little  mediocrity.   Don't  3-011  think  so,  Antoinette  ?  " 

In  spite  of  her  social  self-possession,  the  duchess 
seemed  agitated,  but  she  replied  with  an  ease  of  manner 
that  deceived  her  friend,  — 

"I  am  really  sony  not  to  see  him  any  more,  for  I 
felt  a  great  interest  in  him,  —  even  a  sincere  friendship. 
You  may  think  me  absurd,  dear  friend,  but  I  do  prefer 
the  nobler  natures.  To  care  for  fools  seems  to  me  a 
proof  that  we  have  senses  and  not  souls." 

As  Madame  de  Sérizy  had  never  "  distinguished  "  any 
but  commonplace  men,  and  was  at  this  time  much  occu- 
pied by  a  handsome  fop,  the  Marquis  d'Aiglemont,  she 
made  no  reply. 

Madame  de  Langeais  caught  at  the  hope  conveyed 
by  this  retreat  from  the  world,  and  wrote  to  Montriveau 
a  tender,  humble  letter  fitted  to  bring  him  back  to  her 
if  he  still  loved  her.  She  sent  it  early  in  the  morning 
by  her  footman,  whom  she  questioned  on  his  return. 
When  the  man  assured  her  that  he  had  given  it  into  the 
hands  of  the  marquis  himself,  she  could  scarcely  restrain 


Tlie  Duchesse  de  Langeais.  513 


lier  joy.  Armand  was  in  Paris  !  alone,  at  home,  shut 
up  from  the  world  !  During  all  that  day  she  waited  for 
the  answer.  None  came.  Through  a  series  of  hourly 
renewed  expectations  Antoinette  found  constant  reasons 
for  the  delà}'.  Armand  was  hesitating  ;  perhaps  the 
answer  might  be  sent  hy  post.  But  towards  night  she 
could  deceive  herself  no  longer.  Day  of  anguish,  min- 
gled with  sufferings  that  brought  pleasure,  throbbings 
of  the  heart  which  suffocated,  struggles  of  the  mind  that 
shortened  life  !  The  next  day  she  sent  to  Monsieur  de 
Montriveau  for  the  answer. 

"  Monsieur  le  marquis  sends  word  that  he  will  come 
to  see  Madame  la  duchesse,"  answered  Julian. 

She  fled  to  the  sofa  in  her  boudoir  that  she  might 
hide  her  joy. 

"  He  is  coming  !  "    The  thought  rent  her  soul. 

Those  who  have  never  known  the  storm  and  strain  of 
such  waiting,  and  the  fructifications  of  hope  that  pass 
through  it,  are  devoid  of  the  clear  flame  which  makes 
manifest  to  the  soul  the  pure  essence  of  a  desired  object 
as  much  as  its  actual  reality.  To  love  and  wait, — is 
it  not  to  drain  the  cruse  of  hope  that  never  fails  ?  —  to 
yield  one's  self  up  to  the  flail  of  passion,  happy  through 
all  the  disillusions  of  the  truth?  Love's  waiting,  the 
emanation  of  vital  force  and  desire,  is  to  the  human 
soul  like  the  fragrant  exhalations  of  certain  flowers. 
"We  leave  the  gorgeous  and  sterile  beauty  of  the  tulip 
and  the  coreopsis  to  breathe  the  perfumed  thought  of 
the  orange-flower  and  the  volkemeria, — two  blossoms 
which  their  native  lands  have  likened  involuntarily  to 
youthful  brides,  lovely  in  their  past,  lovelier  in  their 
future. 

33 


514 


The  Duchesse  de  Lanqeals» 


The  duchess  learned  the  joys  of  her  new  birth  as  she 
felt  with  a  species  of  intoxication  these  scourgings  of 
love,  and  saw  through  her  changed  emotions  new  vistas 
and  nobler  meanings  in  the  things  of  life.  As  she  has- 
tened to  her  dressing-room  she  understood  for  the  first 
time  the  true  value  of  dress  and  all  the  delicate  minute 
cares  of  the  person  when  dictated  by  love  and  not  by 
vanity  :  already  these  things  were  helping  her  to  bear 
the  burden  of  suspense.  Her  toilette  finished,  she  fell 
back  into  painful  agitation,  into  all  the  nervous  horrors 
of  that  dread  power  which  sends  its  fermenting  leaven 
through  the  mind,  and  is  perhaps  a  disease  whose 
anguish  is  dear  to  us. 

She  was  dressed  and  waiting  by  two  in  the  afternoon  : 
at  half-past  eleven  at  night  Montriveau  had  not  arrived. 
To  picture  the  agoiry  of  this  poor  woman,  who  ma}r  be 
called  the  spoiled  child  of  civilization,  we  should  need 
to  tell  how  many  poems  the  heart  can  concentrate  into 
one  thought,  to  weigh  the  essence  exhaled  by  the  spirit 
at  the  vibrations  of  a  bell,  or  measure  the  vital  forces 
spent  and  lost  as  carriage-wheels  roll  on  and  on  without 
stopping. 

"  Can  he  be  trifling  with  me?"  she  asked  herself  as 
she  heard  the  clock  strike  midnight. 

She  turned  pale  ;  her  teeth  chattered  as  she  struck 
her  hands  together  and  sprang  up,  quivering,  in  that 
boudoir  where  so  often,  she  remembered,  he  had  come 
unasked.  Then  she  resigned  herself.  Had  she  not 
forced  him  to  turn  pale  and  quiver  under  the  lash  of  her 
irony  ?  Madame  de  Langeais  now  learned  the  miseries 
of  a  woman's  destiny  when,  deprived  of  those  means  of 
action  which  relieve  men,  she  can  only  love  and  wait. 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais.  515 


To  seek  her  lover  is  a  fault  few  men  will  pardon  ;  the 
niajorit}'  see  degradation  in  that  celestial  flattery.  But 
Armand' s  soul  was  of  a  nobler  sort  ;  might  he  not  be 
among  the  lesser  number  of  those  who  reward  such 
excess  of  love  by  an  eternal  devotion? 

"  Yes  !  I  will  go,"  she  cried,  tossing  sleepless  on  her 
bed:  ■  "I  will  go  to  him;  I  will  stretch  my  hands  to 
him  and  never  weary.  A  man  like  Armand  will  see  in 
every  step  I  take  to  him  a  promise  of  constancy  and 
love.  Yes  !  the  angels  descend  from  heaven  to  men.  I 
will  be  to  him  an  angel." 

On  the  morrow  she  wrote  one  of  those  letters  in 
which  the  spirit  of  the  ten  thousand  Sévignés  of  Paris 
excel.  And  yet  to  ask  for  pity  without  humiliation,  to 
fly  to  him  swift-winged  and  never  droop  to  self-abase» 
ment,  to  complain  but  not  offend,  to  rebel  with  tender- 
ness, to  forgive  without  lowering  a  just  dignity,  to 
tell  all  and  yet  to  avow  nothing,  —  surely  it  needed  the 
Duchesse  de  Langeais  trained  by  the  Princesse  de 
Blamont-Chauvry  to  write  that  enchanting  letter. 

Julian  was  despatched  with  it  :  Julian,  like  others  of 
his  calling,  was  the  victim  of  the  marching  and  counter- 
marching of  love. 

'  '  What  answer  did  Monsieur  de  Montriveau  send  ?  " 
she  asked,  as  carelessly  as  she  could,  when  he  came 
to  give  an  account  of  his  mission. 

' 6  Monsieur  le  marquis  desired  me  to  say  to  Madame 
la  duchesse  that  it  was  well." 

Horrible  reaction  of  the  hoping  heart,  —  to  receive 
before  inquisitive  witnesses  the  answer  that  crushed  it  ! 
forced  to  silence,  forbidden  to  ruurmur  !  This  is  one  oi 
the  thousand  pangs  in  the  lot  of  the  wealthy. 


516 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


For  twent}*-two  da}*s  Madame  de  Langeais  wrote  to 
Monsieur  de  Montriveau  without  obtaining  airy  reply. 
At  last  her  strength  gave  wa}',  and  she  made  the  excuse 
of  illness  to  escape  her  duties  to  the  princess  and  also 
to  society.  She  received  only  her  father  the  Duc  de 
Navarreins,  her  great-aunt  the  Princesse  de  Blamont- 
Chauvr}-,  her  maternal  great-uncle  the  Vidame  de 
Pamiers,  and  the  uncle  of  her  husband  the  Duc  de 
Grandlieu.  These  persons  readil}7  believed  in  Madame 
de  Langeais'  illness  when  they  found  her  day  by  day 
paler,  thinner,  more  depressed.  The  vague  unrest  of  a 
real  love,  the  irritations  of  wounded  pride,  the  sting  of 
the  only  scorn  that  had  ever  reached  her,  the  springing 
hopes  forever  formed,  forever  cheated,  — all  these  pas- 
sions uselessly  excited  wore  upon  her  many-sided  nature. 
She  was  expiating  the  past  of  her  wasted  life. 

From  this  seclusion  she  emerged  for  a  day  to  attend 
a  review  in  which  the  general  was  to  take  part.  Sta- 
tioned with  the  royal  family  in  the  balcony  of  the 
Tuileries,  the  duchess  enjoyed  one  of  those  hidden  fes- 
tivals of  the  heart  whose  memory  lingers  long  through 
coming  years.  Her  languor  added  to  her  beauty,  and 
all  eyes  welcomed  her  with  admiration.  She  exchanged 
a  few  glances  with  Montriveau,  whose  presence  was  the 
secret  of  her  exceeding  loveliness.  The  general  marclied 
past  at  her  feet  in  all  that  pomp  of  military  accoutrement 
which  avowedly  affects  the  feminine  imagination,  even- 
that  of  the  strictest  prudeiy. 

To  a  woman  deeply  in  love,  who  had  not  seen  her 
lover  for  two  months,  such  a  moment,  fleeting  as  it 
was,  must  have  seemed  like  the  phase  of  a  dream  which 
reveals  to  our  sight  the  fugitive  vision  of  a  land  without 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais,  517 

horizon.  Women  and  very  young  men  can  alone  im- 
agine the  absorbed  }ret  passionate  avidity  which  filled 
the  eyes  of  the  duchess.  If  men  in  their  early  3'outh 
and  m  the  paroxysms  of  their  first  passion  have  passed 
through  these  phenomena  of  nervous  force,  they  forget 
them  so  completely  in  later  years  that  they  deny  the 
very  existence  of  such  luxurious  ecstasy,  —  the  onlv 
term  by  which  we  can  represent  these  glorious  intui- 
tions. Religious  eestas}'  is  the  exaggeration  of  thought 
released  from  corporeal  bonds  ;  whereas,  in  the  ecstasy 
of  love,  the  forces  of  our  dual  nature  mingle,  unite, 
embrace  each  other.  When  a  woman  falls  a  prey  to 
the  tyranny  of  passion,  such  as  that  which  now  subju- 
gated Madame  de  Langeais,  she  resolves  rapidly,  and 
by  succeeding  steps  of  which  it  is  impossible  to  render 
an  exact  account.  Thoughts  are  born  one  of  another, 
and  rush  through  the  soul  as  clouds  chased  by  the 
wind  flee  across  the  gray  depths  which  veil  the  sun. 
Acts  alone  reveal  the  current  of  such  thoughts.  Here, 
then,  are  the  acts  which  were  the  outcome  of  this 
woman's  mind. 

On  the  morrow  the  Duchesse  de  Langeais  sent  her 
carriage  and  liveries  to  wait  at  the  door  of  Monsieur  de 
Montriveau  from  eight  in  the  morning  till  three  in  the 
afternoon.  The  marquis  lived  in  the  Rue  de  Seine,  not- 
far  from  the  Chamber  of  Peers,  where  there  was  to  be 
on  that  day  a  special  sitting.  Long  before  the  Peers 
assembled,  however,  a  few  persons  had  noticed  the 
carriage  and  the  liveries  of  the  duchess,  —  among  them 
a  young  officer  who  had  been  repelled  by  Madame 
de  Langeais  and  welcomed  by  Madame  de  Sérizy  :  the 
Baron  de  Maulincour.    He  went  at  once  to  his  new 


518 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


mistress,  delighted  to  tell  her,  under  promise  of  secrecy, 
of  this  amazing  folly.  Instantly  the  report  spread 
telegraphically  through  the  coteries  of  the  Faubourg 
Saint-Germain,  reached  the  Chateau  and  the  Elysée- 
Bourbon,  and  became  the  news  of  the  dajr,  —  the  topic 
of  all  conversations  from  midday  till  midnight.  Nearly 
all  the  women  denied  the  fact  in  a  manner  which  con- 
firmed the  truth  of  it  ;  all  the  men  believed  it  with  much 
indulgent  sympathy  for  Madame  de  Langeais.  "That 
savage,  Montriveau,  has  a  heart  of  iron,"  they  said, 
flinging  the  blame  on  Armand;  "he  has  exacted  this 
exposure." 

"Well,"  said  others,  "Madame  de  Langeais  has  com- 
mitted a  generous  imprudence.  To  renounce  before 
the  eyes  of  all  Paris  her  rank,  her  fortune,  her  fame 
for  her  lover  is  a  feminine  coup  cVêiat,  as  fine  as  that 
cut  of  a  barber's  knife  which  electrified  Canning  at  the 
assizes.  Not  one  of  the  women  who  blame  her  would 
have  made  this  sacrifice,  —  wortlry,  indeed,  of  the  olden 
time.  Madame  de  Langeais  is  an  heroic  woman  to  act 
out  the  truth  that  is  in  her.  She  can  love  no  one  but 
Montriveau  after  this.  Well,  there  is  grandeur  in  say- 
ing openly  :  '  I  will  have  but  one  passion  !  '  " 

"  What  will  become  of  societ}T,  Monsieur,  if  3-ou  thus 
do  honor  to  open  vice  without  respecting  virtue  ?  "  said 
the  wife  of  the  attorney-general,  the  Comtesse  de 
Grandville. 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


519 


XIV. 

While  the  Château,  the  Faubourg,  and  the  Chaussée 
d'Antin  were  discussing  the  shipwreck  of  this  aristo- 
cratic virtue,  while  livery  }~oung  men  were  dashing 
on  horseback  through  the  Rue  de  Seine  to  see  with 
their  own  eyes  the  carriage  that  proclaimed  Madame  de 
Langeais'  presence  with  Montriveau,  she  herself  was 
lying  trembling  in  her  darkened  boudoir  ;  Armand,  who 
had  chanced  not  to  sleep  at  home,  was  walking  in  the 
Tuileries  with  his  friend  de  Marsay  ;  and  the  relations 
of  the  duchess  were  going  from  one  to  another  making 
appointments  to  meet  at  her  house,  intending  to  repri- 
mand her  and  take  measures  to  stop  the  scandal. 

At  three  o'clock  the  Duc  de  Navarreins,  the  Vidame 
de  Pamiers,  the  old  Princesse  de  Blamont-Chauvry,  and 
the  Duc  de  Grandlieu  were  assembled  in  the  salon 
of  the  Hôtel  de  Langeais.  To  them,  as  to  all  other  in- 
quirers, the  servants  answered  that  their  mistress  was 
out  ;  the  duchess  had  made  no  exception  in  favor  of 
any  one.  These  four  personages  —  illustrious  in  that 
high  sphere  of  which  the  Almanach  de  Gotha  keeps 
the  sacred  record  and  annuall}-  sets  a  seal  upon  its 
changes  and  hereditaiy  pretensions  —  demand  a  rapid 
sketch,  without  which  this  social  picture  would  be  in- 
complete. 

The  Princesse  de  Blamont-Chauvry  was  the  most 
poetic  female  relic  of  the  reign  of  Louis  XV.,  to  whose 


520 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


surname  she  had,  it  was  whispered,  during  her  gay 
youth  contributed  her  quota.  Of  her  various  early 
charms  none  remained  but  a  nose  remarkabty  promi- 
nent, thin,  and  curved  like  a  Turkish  blade,  —  the  chief 
feature  of  a  face  which  bore  some  resemblance  to  an  old 
white  glove,  —  a  few  crimped  and  powdered  curls,  slip- 
pers with  prodigious  heels,  lace  caps  with  ribbon  knots, 
black  mittens,  and  des  parfaits  contentements.  To  do 
her  justice  we  must  add,  that  she  had  herself  so  high  an 
opinion  of  her  ruins  that  she  went  bare-necked  in  the 
evening,  wore  gloves  instead  of  sleeves,  and  painted  her 
cheeks  with  the  classic  rouge  of  Martin.  An  alarming 
amiabilit}'  in  her  wrinkles,  a  lively  fire  in  her  e3'es,  a 
portentous  dignity  in  her  carriage,  a  triple  fork  of  malice 
on  her  tongue,  an  infallible  memory  in  her  head,  made 
this  old  woman  an  actual  power  in  societ}^  The  parch- 
ment of  her  brain  held  as  much  information  as  the 
archives  of  the  Charter  itself,  and  kept  the  record  of 
all  princely  and  ducal  European  alliances  down  to  the 
ver}r  last  drops  of  the  blood  of  Charlemagne.  No  usur- 
pation of  titles  could  escape  her.  Young  men  anxious 
to  be  well  thought  of,  ambitious  men  with  a  purpose, 
and  all  3'oung  women  paid  her  perpetual  homage.  Her 
salon  gave  the  law  to  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain  and 
the  dicta  of  this  female  Talleyrand  were  accepted  as 
final.  Some  persons  came  to  her  for  information  and 
advice  on  etiquette  and  the  usages  of  society  ;  others  to 
take  lessons  from  her  faultless  good  taste.  Certainly 
no  old  woman  knew  how  to  pocket  her  snuff-box  with 
such  dignity  ;  and  when  she  sat  down,  or  merely 
crossed  her  legs,  she  gave  to  the  sweep  of  her  petti- 
coats a  grace   and  precision  for  which  all  elegant 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


521 


young  women  sighed  in  vain.  Her  voice  had  stajTed  in  her 
head  throughout  the  greater  part  of  her  life,  but  she 
had  not  been  able  to  keep  it  from  getting  into  the 
membranes  of  her  nose,  which  gave  it  a  singular  and 
significant  ring.  Out  of  her  former  property  she  had 
recovered  150,000  francs  worth  of  woodland,  generously 
returned  by  Napoleon  ;  so  that  everything  about  her 
was  important,  from  her  worldly  means  and  position,  to 
her  marked  individuality. 

This  curious  fossil  was  seated  on  a  sofa  at  the  corner 
of  the  fireplace,  talking  to  the  Vidame  de  Pamiers,  an- 
other contemporaneous  ruin.1  This  old  noble,  formerly 
a  Commander  of  the  Knights  of  Malta,  was  tall,  slim, 
and  lean  ;  his  neck  was  buckled  in  so  tightly  that  the 
cheeks  fell  a  little  over  the  cravat  and  compelled  him  to 
carnT  his  head  extremely  high,  —  a  posture  which  would 
seem  consequential  in  many,  but  in  him  was  the 
natural  expression  of  a  thoroughly  Voltairean  mind. 
His  prominent  eyes  seemed  to  see,  and  in  fact  did  see, 
ever}Tthing.  He  always  put  cotton  in  his  ears.  In 
short,  his  person  in  its  entirety  was  a  perfect  model  of 
aristocratic  lines,  —  fragile,  supple  lines,  slender  and 
agreeable,  able,  like  those  of  a  serpent,  to  bend  or 
erect  themselves  at  pleasure,  and  glide  or  stiffen  as 
he  chose. 

The  Duc  de  Navarreins  was  walking  up  and  down 
the  room  with  the  Duc  de  Grandlieu.  Both  were  men 
of  fifty-five  years  of  age,  —  still  fresh,  fat,  short,  well- 
nourished,  rather  florid  ;  with  weary  eyes,  and  their 
under-lips  slightly  pendulous.    Except  for  the  elegance 

A  Vidame,  — feudal  title  of  those  who  held  the  lands  of  a  bishop- 
ric on  condition  of  defending  them. 


522 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


of  their  language  and  the  affable  courtesy  and  perfect 
ease  of  their  manners  (which  could  in  a  moment  change 
to  insolence),  a  superficial  observer  might  have  taken 
them  for  a  couple  of  bankers,  —  an  error  checked  by  the 
first  words  of  their  conversation,  which  was  hedged  with 
precautions  against  those  whom  they  held  in  awe,  dry  or 
empty  for  their  equals,  and  perfidious  towards  their  in- 
feriors, whom,  as  courtiers  and  statesmen,  they  knew 
how  to  win  with  verbal  flattery,  and  stab,  on  occasion, 
with  an  unexpected  word. 

Such  were  these  notable  examples  of  a  great  nobility 
which  chose  to  die  unless  it  could  remain  its  former  un- 
changed self  ;  which  deserves  praise  and  blame  in  equal 
portions  ;  and  which  will  never  be  adequately  under- 
stood until  some  poet  portrays  it,  happy  in  obeying  its 
king  and  in  perishing  by  the  axe  of  Richelieu,  but  de- 
spising the  guillotine  of  '89  as  a  low  and  contemptible 
revenge. 

These  four  individuals  were  remarkable  for  thin  shrill 
voices,  curiously  in  harmony  with  their  ideas  and  their 
deportment.  Perfect  confidence  existed  among  them  ; 
yet  their  court  habit  of  concealing  all  emotion  kept 
them  from  openly  expressing  their  displeasure  at  the 
folly  of  their  young  relation.  To  disarm  my  critics, 
and  prevent  them  from  fastening  on  the  puerilities  with 
which  the  following  conversation  opens,  I  must  remind 
them  that  Locke,  when  in  company  with  certain  Eng- 
lish lords  renowned  for  their  wit  and  distinguished  for 
their  manners  as  well  as  for  their  political  integrity, 
amused  himself  by  taking  down  their  conversation  at 
short-hand,  and  caused  them  to  roar  with  laughter  as  he 
read  aloud  the  result  and  asked  them  to  say  what  they 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


523 


could  make  of  it.  The  truth  is,  the  upper  classes  in  all 
nations  have  a  certain  jargon  and  glitter  of  talk,  which, 
if  burned  in  the  embers  of  literary  or  philosophical 
thought,  leave  a  very  small  residuum  of  gold  in  the 
crucible.  On  all  planes  of  social  life,  if  we  except  a 
few  Parisian  salons,  an  observer  will  find  the  same  ab- 
surdities, differing  from  one  another  according  to  the 
thickness  or  transparency  of  the  varnish.  Thus  solid 
conversation  is  exceptional  in  society  ;  Bœctian  dul- 
ness  carries  the  day  and  the  burden  of  talk  through  all 
the  various  strata  of  the  upper  world.  If  in  that  so- 
cial world  men  are  obliged  to  converse,  they  are  certainty 
permitted  to  think  but  little.  Thought  is  fatiguing,  and 
wealth}'  people  want  their  lives  to  flow  on  without  effort. 
If  we  put  wit  into  a  scale,  sliding  from  the  gamin  of 
Paris  to  the  peer  of  France,  we  shall  understand  Mon- 
sieur de  Talleyrand's  saying  that  "  manners  are  every- 
thing,"—  a  polite  translation  of  the  legal  maxim  that 
La  forme  emporte  le  fond. 

To  the  mind  of  a  poet  the  language  of  the  lower 
classes  will  always  have  the  advantage  of  giving  a  rough 
stamp  of  poetry  to  their  thoughts.  These  observations 
explain  in  part  the  barren  en.ptiness  of  ordinary  social 
life,  its  want  of  real  depth,  and  the  repugnance  which 
superior  men  and  women  feel  to  such  unprofitable  inter- 
change of  their  thoughts. 

The  Duc  de  Navarreins  suddenly  stopped  short  as  if 
struck  by  a  bright  idea,  and  said  to  his  companion,  — 

"  Have  you  sold  Thornton  ?  " 

"  No  ;  he  is  lame.  I  am  afraid  I  shall  lose  him.  He 
is  a  capital  hunter.  Do  you  know  how  the  Duchesse  de 
Marigny  is?" 


524 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


"  No  ;  I  did  not  call  this  morning.  I  was  just  going 
there  when  you  came  to  tell  me  about  Antoinette.  She 
was  very  ill  yesterday,  and  the}'  despaired  of  her  life. 
She  received  the  last  sacraments." 

"  Her  death  will  alter  your  cousin's  prospects?" 

"Not  at  all.  She  divided  her  property  in  her  life- 
time, and  kept  only  a  pension,  which  was  paid  to  her 
b}*  her  niece,  Madame  de  Soulanges,  to  whom  she  made 
over  the  estate  at  Guébriant  for  an  annuit}\" 

"  She  will  be  quite  a  loss  to  societ}\  A  good  woman. 
The  family  will  lose  her  advice  and  experience,  which 
had  real  weight.  Between  ourselves  be  it  said,  she  was 
the  head  of  the  house.  Her  son,  Marigny,  is  amiaole 
enough  ;  he  is  witt}'  and  can  talk  ;  he  is  agreeable,  very 
agreeable  —  oh!  as  for  agreeable,  that's  not  to  be  de- 
nied ;  but  he  has  no  idea  whatever  of  conducting  him- 
self. Still — it  is  very  extraordinary — he  is  clever.  The 
other  day  he  was  dining  at  the  club  with  all  those  rich 
fellows  of  the  Chaussée  d'Antin,  and  jour  uncle  (who 
is  alwa}Ts  there,  3'ou  know,  for  his  game  of  whist)  saw 
him.  Surprised  to  meet  him  there,  he  asked  him  if  he 
belonged  to  the  club.  '  Yes  ;  I  don't  go  into  the  world 
any  longer.  I  live  with  the  bankers.'  You  know  why, 
of  course  ?  "  added  the  duke  with  a  sly  smile. 

"No." 

"  Because  he  is  infatuated  with  a  pretty  bride,  —  that 
little  Madame  Kellner,  daughter  of  Gondreville,  —  a 
woman,  they  say,  who  is  all  the  fashion  among  that  set 
of  people." 

"Antoinette  must  be  enjo}'ing  herself,  I  think,"  re- 
marked the  old  vidame  to  his  companion  at  the  corner 
of  the  fireplace. 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais, 


525 


"  The  affection  I  feel  for  that  dear  child  has  obliged 
me  to  spend  my  morning  in  a  singular  way,"  replied  the 
princess,  pocketing  her  snuff-box. 

"  My  dear  aunt,"  said  the  duke,  stopping  before  her, 
"I  am  in  despair.  Orny  one  of  those  Bonaparte  men 
is  capable  of  exacting  such  an  impropriety.  Between 
ourselves,  why  did  not  Antoinette  make  a  better 
choice  ?  " 

"My  dear  nephew,"  answered  the  princess,  "the 
Montriveaus  are  an  ancient  family  and  well  connected  : 
they  are  related  to  all  the  high  nobility  of  Burgundy. 
If  the  Kivaudoult  d'Arschoot  of  the  Dulmen  branch 
should  come  to  an  end  in  Gallicia,  the  Montriveaus  will 
succeed  to  all  the  titles  of  Arschoot  ;  they  inherit 
through  their  great-grandfather." 

"  Are  you  sure?" 

"  I  knew  it  better  than  the  father  of  this  man,  whom 
I  used  to  know  very  well,  and  to  whom  I  told  it.  Though 
a  knight  of  several  orders,  he  ridiculed  distinctions.  He 
was  a  student,  — a  perfect  encyclopaedia.  But  his  brother 
made  a  great  deal  out  of  the  emigration.  I  have  heard 
that  his  relatives  at  the  north  behaved  admirably  to 
him." 

"  Yes  ;  that  is  true.  The  Comte  de  Montriveau  died 
at  St.  Petersburg,  where  I  met  him,"  said  the  vidame. 
"  He  was  a  large  man,  with  an  incredible  passion  for 
oysters." 

"How  many  could  he  eat?"  asked  the  Duc  de 
Grandlieu. 

1  '  Ten  dozen  every  day." 
"  Without  indigestion?  " 
"None  at  all." 


526 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


"  But  that  is  most  extraordinary  !  Did  not  the}'  give 
him  gout,  or  stone,  or  some  other  inconvenience?" 

"No;  he  had  perfect  health,  and  died  from  an 
accident." 

"  An  accident  !  If  nature  prompted  him  to  eat  oysters 
he  probably  needed  them  ;  up  to  a  certain  point  our  pre- 
dominant tastes  are  the  conditions  of  our  existence."' 

"  I  am  of  your  opinion,"  said  the  princess,  smiling. 

"  Madame,  you  are  very  satirical,"  said  the  duke. 

"  I  on\y  wished  to  show  you  that  such  sentiments 
would  not  be  acceptable  to  younger  women,"  she  an- 
swered. Then  she  interrupted  herself,  and  added,  "  But 
my  niece  !  nry  niece  !  " 

"  Dear  aunt,"  said  Monsieur  de  Navarreins,  "  I  can- 
not believe  that  she  has  really  gone  to  Monsieur  de 
Montriveau." 

'  '  Pshaw  !  "  exclaimed  the  princess.  '  '  What  is  your 
opinion,  vidame?" 

"  If  the  duchess  were  an  artless  girl  I  should  think — " 

"A  woman  in  love  is  alwaj's  artless,  my  poor  vidame  : 
decidedly  you  are  getting  old,"  said  the  princëss. 

"  What  is  to  be  done?  "  demanded  the  duke. 

"If  my  dear  niece  is  wise,"  answered  Madame  de 
Chauvr}T,  '  '  she  will  go  to  Court  this  evening.  Happily 
this  is  Monday,  a  reception  dajT.  We  will  take  care  to 
have  her  well  surrounded,  and  give  the  lie  to  this  ridicu- 
lous rumor.  There  are  a  thousand  wa}Ts  of  explaining 
it  ;  and  if  the  Marquis  de  Montriveau  is  an  honorable 
man  he  will  lend  himself  to  any  of  them.  We  will  make 
the  pair  listen  to  reason." 

"  It  would  be  difficult  to  break  a  lance  with  Monsieur 
de  Montriveau,  dear  aunt.    He  is  a  pupil  of  Bonaparte, 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


52T 


and  he  has  a  position.  Bless  me  !  he  is  a  seigneur  of 
these  days,  a  commander  of  the  Guard,  an  important 
man.  He  has  not  the  slightest  ambition  ;  if  he  takes 
offence,  he  is  just  the  man  to  say  to  the  King,  ;  There  is 
my  resignation,  — leave  me  in  peace.'  " 

44  What  are  his  opinions?" 

"  Very  bad  indeed." 

"As  for  that,"  remarked  the  princess,  "the  King 
himself  is  what  he  always  was,  —  a  jacobin  Jleur-de- 
lised" 

"  Oh,  somewhat  modified  !  "  interposed  the  vidame. 

"  No  ;  I  know  him  of  old.  The  man  who  pointed  to 
the  Court  and  said  to  his  wife  the  first  time  they  dined 
in  public,  '  These  are  our  people,'  is  neither  more  nor 
less  than  a  black  scoundrel.  I  recognize  Monsieur  in 
the  King.  The  shameless  brother  who  voted  as  he  did 
in  the  Constituent  Assembly  probably  conspires  now 
with  the  liberals,  and  consults  them.  This  philosophi- 
cal bigot  is  quite  as  dangerous  for  his  younger  brother 
as  he  was  for  his  elder  ;  in  fact,  I  don't  see  how  the  next 
reign  will  get  out  of  the  troubles  this  big  man  with  a 
tiny  brain  has  been  pleased  to  create  for  it.  Besides, 
he  hates  the  Comte  d'Artois,  and  would  like  to  die  with 
the  thought  that  he  could  not  reign  long." 

"  My  dear  aunt,  he  is  the  King.  I  have  the  honor 
to  serve  him,  and  —  " 

"  But,  my  dear  nephew,  your  duties  do  not  deprive 
you  of  the  right  of  private  judgment,  do  they?  Your 
house  is  as  ancient  as  that  of  the  Bourbons.  If  the 
Guises  had  had  a  shade  more  resolution,  his  Majesty 
would  be  only  a  plain  gentleman  to-day.  I  am  going 
out  of  the  world  at  the  right  time  —  nobility  is  dead* 


528 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


Yes,  everything  is  at  an  end  for  30U.  my  children,"  she 
added,  looking  at  the  vidame.  "  Is  the  conduct  of  my 
niece  to  be  made  the  talk  of  the  town  ?  She  has  done 
wrong  ;  I  don't  approve  of  her.  A  useless  scandal  is  a 
great  mistake.  But,  after  all,  I  doubt  the  stor}\  I 
brought  her  up,  and  I  know  that  —  " 

At  this  moment  the  duchess  emerged  from  her  bou- 
doir. She  had  recognized  her  aunt's  voice,  and  had 
heard  the  name  of  Montriveau.  She  wore  a  long, 
loose  morning-dress,  and  as  she  came  into  the  room 
Monsieur  de  Grandlieu,  who  happened  to  be  looking 
out  of  the  window,  saw  the  carriage  enter  the  court- 
yard empty. 

"My  dear  daughter,"  said  the  Duc  de  Navarreins, 
kissing  her  on  the  forehead,  "  are  }'Ou  aware  of  what  is 
going  on  ?  " 

"Is  anything  extraordinary  going  on,  dear  father?" 
'  '  All   Paris   thinks    you   are  with   Monsieur  de 
Montriveau.'* 

"Dear  Antoinette,  you  have  not  been  out,  have 
you?"  said  the  princess,  holding  out  her  hand,  which 
the  duchess  kissed  with  respectful  affection. 

"No,  dear  aunt,  I  have  not  been  out.  But,"  she 
added,  turning  to  the  vidame  and  the  Duc  de  Grand- 
lieu,  "I  intended  that  all  Paris  should  think  me  with 
Monsieur  de  Montriveau." 

The  duke  raised  his  hands  to  heaven,  struck  them 
despairing!}"  together  and  folded  his  arms. 

The  old  princess  rose  quickly  on  her  prodigious  heels 
and  looked  at  the  duchess,  who  blushed  and  dropped 
her  eyes.  Madame  de  Chauviy  drew  her  gently  to  her 
side  and  said,  "  Let  me  kiss  you,  my  little  angel." 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


529 


Then  she  kissed  her  forehead  tenderly,  pressed  her 
hand  and  added,  smiling,  "  TTe  are  no  longer  under 
the  Valois,  dear  child.  You  have  compromised  3'our 
husband  and  your  position  in  the  world.  But  we  can 
undo  it  all." 

44  But,  my  dear  aunt,  I  want  nothing  undone.  I  wish 
all  Paris  to  think  and  say  that  I  spent  this  morning 
with  Monsieur  de  Montriveau.  Destroy  that  belief, 
false  as  it  is,  and  you  will  do  me  the  greatest  harm." 

44  My  daughter,"  said  the  duke,  "  do  you  wish  to  be 
lost  and  cause  your  family  great  unhappiness  ?  " 

' ;  My  dear  father,  my  family  in  sacrificing  me  to  its 
own  interests  gave  me  over,  without  intending  it,  to 
irreparable  miseiy.  You  ma}T  blame  me  for  seeking  to 
soften  m}*  fate,  but  you  certainly  must  pity  me." 

4  4  This  is  what  it  is  to  take  the  utmost  pains  to 
marry  our  daughters  suitably,"  murnmred  the  duke 
to  the  vidame. 

-'Dear  child,"  said  the  princess,  shaking  off  the 
grains  of  snuff  that  had  fallen  on  her  dress,  44  find 
solace  where  you  can  ;  it  is  not  a  question  of  hindering 
your  happiness,  but  of  keeping  it  within  certain  limits. 
We  all  know  that  marriage  is  a  defective  institution 
made  tolerable  only  by  love.  But  is  it  necessary  in 
taking  a  lover  to  proclaim  it  on  the  Carrousel?  Come, 
be  reasonable  and  listen  to  what  we  say." 

"Iam  listening." 

44  Madame  la  duchesse,"  said  the  Duc  de  Grandlieu, 
44  if  uncles  were  obliged  to  take  care  of  their  nieces, 
there  would  be  but  one  business  in  life  ;  and  society 
would  owe  them  rewards,  honors,  and  the  distinction 
due  to  the  servants  of  a  king.    I  have  not  come  here 

34 


530 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


to  talk  to  you  about  my  nephew  ;  I  am  thinking  solely 
of  jour  interests.  Let  us  consider.  If  3  0U  are  resolved 
to  make  an  open  break,  let  me  tell  you  this  :  I  know 
Langeais  ;  I  don't  like  him.  He  is  miserly  and  selfish 
as  the  devil.  He  will  separate  from  you,  but  he  will 
keep  your  fortune  and  leave  you  penniless,  and  conse- 
quently without  position  in  the  world.  The  hundred 
thousand  francs  you  lately  inherited  from  your  ma- 
ternal great-aunt  will  go  to  pay  for  the  jewels  of  his 
mistresses,  and  you  will  be  tied,  garroted  by  the  laws, 
and  compelled  to  sa}T  amen  to  all  that  he  does.  Sup- 
pose Monsieur  de  Montriveau  should  break  with  you? 
My  dear  niece,  don't  tell  me  that  a  man  never  abandons 
a  young  and  pretty  woman.  The  supposition  is  forced, 
I  admit  ;  but  have  we  not  seen  many  charming  women, 
*  princesses  among  them,  neglected  and  abandoned? 
Then  where  will  }*ou  be,  without  a  husband?  Manage 
the  one  you  have  just  as  you  take  care  of  3'our  beauty, 
—  which  is,  after  all,  together  with  the  husband,  the 
tail  of  a  woman's  kite.  I  wish  you  to  be  happy  and 
beloved  ;  let  us  look  therefore  at  the  future.  Happily 
or  unhappily  }'ou  may  have  children.  What  will  you 
call  them?  Montriveau?  Well,  they  cannot  inherit 
their  father's  fortune.  You  will  wish  to  give  them 
yours  ;  he  will  wish  to  give  them  his  ;  but  the  law 
steps  in  and  forbids  it.  How  often  we  read  of  suits 
brought  by  heirs-at-law  to  dispossess  the  children  ,  of 
love  !  All  over  the  country  this  happens  daily.  Sup- 
pose you  bequeath  your  property  in  trust  to  some 
third  person.  Such  a  person  may  betray  that  trust; 
but  justice  cannot  reach  him,  and  your  children  will 
be  ruined. 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


531 


"Choose  your  path,"  he  continued,  "  with  jour  eyes 
open.  See  the  difficulties  which  hedge  you.  Your 
children  will  be  sacrificed  to  a  mere  fancy  and  deprived 
of  their  position  in  the  world.  So  long  as  they  are 
young  it  may  be  all  very  well,  —  they  will  be  charming  ; 
but  sooner  or  later  they  will  reproach  you  for  having 
thought  more  of  yourself  than  of  them.  We  old  men 
know  all  this  only  too  well  ;  children  grow  to  manhood, 
and  men  are  thankless.  Have  I  not  heard  that  young 
de  Horn,  in  Germany,  say  after  supper,  4  If  my  mother 
had  been  an  honest  woman,  I  should  have  been  the 
reigning  sovereign.'  This  if  has  sounded  in  our  ears 
all  our  lives  from  the  lower  classes,  and  the  end  of  it 
has  been  the  Revolution.  When  men  can't  complain 
of  their  fathers  and  their  mothers,  they  complain  of 
God,  and  of  that  state  of  life  to  which  he  has  called 
them.  Now,  my  dear  child,  we  have  come  here  to 
open  your  e}-es  to  all  this.  I  will  sum  it  all  up  in 
two  words,  —  a  woman  should  never  give  her  husband 
the  chance  to  condemn  her." 

"Uncle,  nry  life  was  all  calculation.  I  calculated  so 
much  that  I  could  not  love.  I  saw,  as  you  do,  self- 
interest  where  now  I  see  only  feeling." 

"But,  my  dearest  child,  life  is  a  tangle  of  interests 
and  feelings,"  exclaimed  the  vidame.  "To  be  happy, 
we  should  try,  more  especially  placed  as  }Tou  are,  to 
combine  feelings  with  interests.  Let  a  grisette  make 
love  as  she  likes,  —  that's  all  ver}T  well  ;  but  you  have 
a  pretty  fortune,  a  family,  a  title,  a  place  at  Court,  and 
you  must  not  throw  them  out  of  the  window.  What 
is  it  we  ask  of  you  ?  Merety  to  conciliate  the  proprie- 
ties, and  not  fly  in  the  face  of  them.    Mon  Dieu,  I 


532 


Tfie  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


am  nearly  eighty  years  old,  and  I  do  not  remember 
under  the  old  regime  a  single  lover  who  was  worth 
the  sacrifice  you  are  ready  to  make  for  this  fortunate 
}Toung  man." 

The  duchess  silenced  the  vidame  with  a  look  ;  and  if 
Montriveau  had  seen  her  then  he  would  have  pardoned 
everything. 

"This  would  make  a  fine  scene  on  the  stage,"  ex- 
claimed the  Duc  de  Grandlieu  ;  "and  yet  because  it 
concerns  }rour  paraphernalia,  your  position,  }'our  inde- 
pendence, it  has  no  effect.  My  dear  niece,  you  are  not 
grateful.  You  will  not  find  many  families  where  the 
relations  are  courageous  enough  to  give  the  lessons  of 
their  experience,  and  talk  plain  common-sense  to 
giddjr  young  heads.  Renounce  your  salvation  if  }*ou 
wish  to  be  damned, — I  have  nothing  to  say  about 
that  ;  but  when  it  comes  to  renouncing  }Tour  income, 
I  don't  know  any  confessor  that  can  absolve  you  from 
the  pains  of  poverty.  I  think  I  have  the  right  to  say 
these  things,  because  if  }'OU  rush  to  perdition  I  shall 
be  the  one  to  offer  you  a  refuge.  I  am  Langeais' 
uncle,  and  I  alone  can  put  him  in  the  wrong  by  such 
a  step." 

"My  daughter,"  said  the  Duc  de  Navarreins,  rousing 
himself  from  a  painful  meditation,  "  as  you  speak  of  feel- 
ings, let  me  tell  you  that  a  woman  who  bears  our  name 
should  have  other  feelings  than  those  that  belong  to 
women  of  a  lesser  grade.  Do  you  wish  to  yield  to  the 
liberals,  to  those  Jesuits  of  Robespierre  who  seek  to  dis- 
honor us?  There  are  certain  things  that  a  Navarreins 
cannot  do  ;  it  is  not  30U  alone  who  are  dishonored,  it  is 
your  house." 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


533 


"Come,"  said  the  princess,  "do  not  let  tis  talk  of 
dishonor.  My  dear  sons,  don't  make  quite  so  much  of 
an  empty  carriage,  and  leave  me  alone  with  Antoinette. 
Come  and  dine  with  me,  all  three  of  you.  I  take  upon 
myself  to  settle  this  affair  in  a  proper  manner.  You 
men  don't  understand  things  ;  you  put  a  great  deal  too 
much  sharpness  into  what  you  have  to  sa}\  I  shall 
not  let  you  quarrel  with  my  dear  niece  ;  be  so  good  as 
to  go  away." 

The  three  gentlemen,  guessing  that  the  princess  would 
do  better  without  them,  made  their  bow  and  departed  ; 
the  Duc  de  Navarreins  sa}ing  to  his  daughter  as  he 
kissed  her  brow:  "  Come,  my  dear  child,  be  wise;  it 
is  not  too  late." 

u  I  wish  we  could  find  in  the  family  some  vigorous 
young  fellow  who  would  pick  a  quarrel  with  this  Mon- 
triveau  and  make  an  end  of  him,"  said  the  vidame,  as 
they  went  downstairs. 


534 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais* 


XV. 

"My  treasure,"  said  the  princess,  making  a  sign  to 
her  pupil  to  take  a  low  chair  which  was  beside  her,  "I 
know  nothing  here  below  so  calumniated  as  God  and 
the  eighteenth  century.  As  I  look  back  to  the  daj's  of 
my  youth,  I  cannot  recall  a  single  duchess  who  trod 
propriety  under  foot  as  you  are  doing.  Scribblers  and 
romance-makers  have  vilified  the  reign  of  Louis  XV.  ; 
don't  believe  them.  The  Dubarry,  my  dear,  was  worth 
a  dozen  of  that  widow  Scarron  ;  she  was  a  much  better 
person. 

'  '  In  my  day  a  woman  knew  how  to  save  appearances 
and  keep  her  dignity.  Indiscretion  has  been  our  bane  ; 
it  is  the  root  of  the  evil.  Philosophers  and  all  the 
other  nobodies  whom  we  admitted  into  our  salons  had 
the  ingratitude  and  the  impropriety  in  return  for  our 
bounty  to  make  a  schedule  of  our  hearts,  and  decry 
us  collectively  and  individually,  and  rail  at  the  century. 
The  masses,  whose  chance  to  judge  of  anything,  I  don't 
care  what,  is  very  small  indeed,  saw  results  only,  and 
knew  nothing  of  the  ways  that  led  to  them.  But  in 
those  days,  dear  heart,  men  and  women  were  quite 
as  remarkable  as  in  any  other  epoch  of  a  monarchy. 
None  of  your  Werthers,  none  of  your  notables  as  they 
call  themselves,  not  one  of  3'our  men  in  }rellow  gloves, 
whose  trousers  nowadays  conceal  their  skinny  legs, 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeai*.  535 

would  have  crossed  Europe  disguised  as  a  peddler,  to 
shut  himself  up,  at  the  risk  of  his  life  from  the  poniards 
of  the  Duke  of  Modena,  iu  the  dressing-room  of  the 
regent's  daughter.  Which  of  your  consumptive  little 
dandies  with  their  tortoise-shell  eyeglasses  would  have 
hid  for  six  weeks  in  a  closet,  like  Lauzun,  that  he 
might  give  courage  to  his  mistress  in  the  pains  ol 
child-birth?  There  was  more  passion  in  the  little 
finger  of  Monsieur  de  Jaucourt  than  in  your  whole 
race  of  wranglers  who  leave  a  woman's  side  to  vote 
for  an  amendment.  Find  me  to-day  a  single  Court 
page  who  would  let  himself  be  hacked  to  pieces  and 
buried  under  a  stairway,  merely  to  kiss  the  gloved 
fingers  of  a  Konigsmark  !  One  would  really  think  the 
sexes  had  changed  places,  and  that  women  were  ex- 
pected to  devote  themselves  to  men.  The  men  of  to- 
day are  worth  a  great  deal  less,  and  think  them- 
selves worth  a  great  deal  more,  than  the}'  were  in  my 
day.  My  deai',  those  adventures  which  they  have 
raked  up  to  assassinate  our  dear,  good  Louis  XV. 
were  all  done  in  secrecy.  If  it  had  not  been  for  a 
set  of  petty  poets,  scandal-mongers,  and  scavengers, 
who  gossipped  with  oui  waiting- women  and  wrote  down 
their  calumnies,  our  epoch  would  have  held  its  own 
in  literature  as  to  manners  and  morals.  Iam  defend- 
ing the  century,  and  not  its  accidents.  There  may 
have  been  a  hundred  women  of  quality  who  lost  them- 
selves ;  but  fools  said  there  were  a  thousand,  just  as 
they  estimate  the  enemy's  dead  on  a  battle-field.  And 
after  all,  I  don't  know  why  the  Revolution  or  the  Em- 
pire need  fling  reproaches  at  us.  I  am  sure  they  were 
licentious  enough  j  without  wit,  coarse,  vulgar —  faugh  I 


536 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


all  that  was  revolting  !  The}'  make  the  vile  spots  on  our 
history. 

"  This  preamble,  my  dear  child,"  she  continued  after 
a  pause,  "is  simply  to  tell  you  that  if  you  care  for 
Montriveau,  3'ou  are  free  to  love  him  as  much  as  you 
please,  and  as  long  as  3'ou  can  do  so.  I  know,  by  expe- 
rience, that  short  of  locking  you  up  (and  we  can't  lock 
people  up  in  these  days)  you  will  do  as  30U  please  ; 
that  is  what  I  should  have  done  at  your  age,  —  except, 
my  darling,  that  I  should  never  have  abdicated  my 
rights  as  Duchesse  de  Langeais.  Come,  behave  with 
propriety.  The  vidame  is  quite  right  ;  no  man  is 
worth  a  single  one  of  the  sacrifices  which  women  are 
fools  enough  to  make  in  return  for  their  love.  Keep 
3'ourself  alwaj's  in  your  position,  my  child  ;  and  then  if 
things  go  wrong  and  30U  have  reason  to  regret  your 
course,  well  then,  3'ou  are  still  the  wife  of  Monsieur  de 
Langeais.  When  3'ou  grow  old,  you  will  be  glad  enough 
to  hear  Mass  at  Court  instead  of  in  some  countiy  con- 
vent. There!  that's  the  whole  of  it  in  a  nutshell. 
Imprudence  means  an  annuity,  a  wandering  life,  being  at 
the  beck  and  call  of  a  lover  ;  it  means  mortification  at 
the  hands  of  women  who  are  not  worthy  of  3'ou,  simply 
because  the3T  are  more  vilely  clever.  You  had  far 
better  go  to  Montriveau  after  dark,  in  a  hackne3*-coach, 
disguised,  than  send  your  empt3r  carriage  in  broad  da3'- 
light.  You  are  a  little  goose,  nryT  child.  Your  car- 
riage flattered  his  vanit3',  but  your  presence  would  have 
won  his  heart.  I  have  told  you  the  exact  truth,  but 
I  am  not  the  least  angry  with  3'ou.  You  are  two  cen- 
turies behind  the  times  with  3Tour  superb  sacrifice. 
Come  !  let  me  arrange  the  matter.    I  shall  sa3T  that 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais,  537 


Montriveau  made  jour  people  drunk  to  gratify  his 
vanity,  and  compromise  you  —  " 

"For  Heaven's  sake,  dear  aunt,"  cried  the  duchess, 
springing  to  her  feet,  *  '  don't  calumniate  him  !  " 

"Ah,  dear  child  !  "  said  the  princess,  whose  e}Tes 
lighted  up,  "I  should  love  your  illusions  if  they  were 
not  so  dangerous  for  j'ou  ;  but  all  illusions  fade.  You 
would  melt  my  heart  if  it  were  not  too  old.  Come, 
darling,  make  no  one  wretched,  —  neither  yourself,  nor 
him,  nor  those  who  love  you.  I  take  upon  myself  to 
satisfy  all  parties.  Promise  me  that  you  will  do  nothing 
without  consulting  me.  Tell  me  everything,  and  I 
think  I  can  guide  you  safely." 

"Dear  aunt,  I  promise  —  " 

"To  tell  me  all?" 

"Yes,  all, —  that  is,  all  that  can  be  told." 

"But,  my  treasure,  it  is  precisely  what  can  not  be 
told  that  I  wish  to  know  ;  we  must  understand  each 
other  thoroughly.  Come,  let  me  press  my  withered 
old  lips  upon  your  sweet  brow.  No,  no  !  I  forbid  you 
to  kiss  my  dry  bones  ;  old  people  have  a  politeness  of 
their  own.  Take  me  down  to  my  carriage,"  she  added, 
after  kissing  her  niece. 

"Dear  aunt;  then  }'OU  think  I  might  go  to  him 
disguised?  " 

"  Well,  yes,  —  it  can  always  be  denied,"  said  the  old 
woman  as  she  went  downstairs. 

The  duchess  caught  this  idea  alone  from  the  sermon 
which  the  princess  had  preached  to  her.  "When  Madame 
de  Chauvry  was  safely  in  her  carriage,  Madame  de 
Langeais  bade  her  tenderly  adieu,  and  returned  radiant 
to  her  own  room. 


538 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


"My  presence  would  have  won  his  heart!"  she  re- 
peated. i  1  Yes,  my  aunt  is  right.  A  man  cannot  reject 
a  woman  if  she  seeks  him  rightly." 

That  evening  at  the  reception  of  Madame  la 
Duchesse  de  Berri,  the  Duc  de  Navarreins,  Monsieur  de 
Marsay,  Monsieur  de  Grandlieu  and  the  Duc  de  Mau- 
frigneuse,  triumphantly  denied  the  offensive  rumors 
which  were  current  about  the  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 
So  many  officers  and  others  asserted  that  they  had  seen 
Montriveau  walking  in  the  Tuileries  during  the  morning, 
that  the  foolish  story  was  laid  to  the  door  of  chance, 
which  takes  all  that  is  given  to  it.  The  next  day  the 
reputation  of  the  duchess  became,  in  spite  of  her 
efforts  to  blacken  it,  as  spotless  and  bright  as  Mam- 
brino's  helmet  after  Sancho  had  polished  it. 

At  two  o'clock  that  afternoon  Monsieur  de  Ronque- 
rolles  rode  up  to  Montriveau  in  a  secluded  alley  of  the 
Bois  de  Boulogne,  and  said,  smiling,  "  How  goes 
the  duchess? — Strike  on,  strike  ever!"  he  added, 
suiting  the  action  to  the  word  and  applying  his  whip 
significantly  to  his  beautiful  mare,  which  dashed  away 
with  him  like  a  bullet. 

Two  days  after  this  futile  exposure,  Madame  de 
Langeais  wrote  a  letter  to  the  marquis,  which  remained 
unanswered  like  all  its  predecessors.  This  time,  how- 
ever, she  had  taken  her  measures  and  bribed  Auguste, 
Montriveau's  valet.  At  eight  o'clock  that  evening  she 
went  to  the  Rue  de  Seine,  and  was  ushered  by  Auguste 
into  a  room  altogether  different  from  the  one  in  which 
the  former  secret  scene  had  been  enacted.  There  the 
duchess  learned  that  the  general  would  not  be  at  home 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais,  539 


that  evening.  "Has  he  two  homes?"  she  asked. 
The  valet  would  make  no  reply.  Madame  de  Langeais 
had  bought  the  key  of  the  room,  but  not  the  sterling 
integrity  of  the  man  himself.  When  she  was  left  alone 
she  saw  her  fourteen  letters  lying  on  a  small  round 
table,  still  sealed,  unopened  :  not  one  had  been  read  ! 
At  this  sight  she  fell  into  an  arm-chair  and  for  a 
moment  lost  consciousness.  When  she  came  to  herself, 
she  found  Auguste  holding  vinegar  to  her  face. 
"A  carriage,  quick  !  "  she  said. 

When  it  came,  she  ran  down  to  it  with  convulsive 
rapidity,  returned  home  and  went  to  bed  ;  telling  the 
servants  to  deny  her  to  every  one.  She  remained 
thirty-six  hours  in  her  bed,  letting  no  one  approach 
her  but  her  waiting-maid,  who  brought  her  from  time 
to  time  a  cup  of  orange-flower  infusion.  Susette  heard 
her  mistress  utter  a  few  low  moans,  and  saw  traces  of 
tears  in  the  sweet  e3*es  which  shone  out  with  feverish 
light  from  the  dark  circles  around  them.  On  the 
succeeding  dajT,  after  long  and  despairing  meditation 
on  the  course  she  must  now  pursue,  Madame  de  Lan- 
geais had  a  conference  with  her  man  of  business,  and 
apparently  gave  him  instructions  to  make  certain  pre- 
parations. Then  she  sent  for  the  Vidame  de  Pamiers, 
and  while  waiting  for  his  arrival  she  wrote  again  to 
Monsieur  de  Montriveau. 

The  vidame  was  punctual.  He  found  his  young 
cousin  pale,  dejected,  but  resigned.  It  was  about  two 
in  the  afternoon.  Never  had  this  divine  creature  seemed 
so  poetic  as  she  now  did  in  the  weariness  of  her  anguish. 

"  My  dear  cousin,"  she  said  to  the  vidame,  "your 
eighty  years  have  obtained  for  you  this  rendezvous.  Oh, 


540 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


do  not  smile  at  a  poor  woman  who  is  in  the  deepest 
grief!  You  are  a  man  of  honor,  and  the  events  of 
your  youth,  I  hope  and  believe,  have  inspired  you  with 
indulgence  for  women." 

"  Not  the  smallest  !  "  he  said. 

"No?" 

"  They-  are  happy  in  it  all,"  he  answered. 

"  Ah  !  —  Well,  you  are  in  the  heart  of  my  family  ; 
you  may  be,  perhaps,  the  last  relative,  the  last  friend, 
whose  hand  I  shall  ever  press.  I  ma}'  therefore  ask  of 
you  a  last  kindness.  Do  me,  dear  vidame,  a  service 
which  1  cannot  ask  from  my  father,  nor  from  my  uncle 
Grandlieu,  nor  from  any  woman.  You  will  understand 
me.  I  entreat  you  to  obey  me,  and  to  forget  in  future 
days  that  you  have  obeyed  me,  — no  matter  what  may  be 
the  issue  of  }"our  action.  It  is  to  carr}r  this  letter  to  Mon- 
sieur de  Montriveau,  to  see  him,  to  give  him  the  letter, 
to  ask  him  as  one  man  can  ask  of  another,  —  for  you 
have  among  you  a  straightforwardness  of  feeling  which 
you  abandon  in  your  treatment  of  women,  —  ask  him 
to  read  this  letter  ;  but  not  in  your  presence,  for  men 
wish  to  hide  emotions  from  each  other.  I  authorize 
you,  if  you  cannot  otherwise  get  his  consent,  to  tell  him 
it  is  a  matter  of  life  or  of  death  to  me.  If  he  deigns  —  " 

"  Deigns  !  "  exclaimed  the  vidame. 

"If  he  deigns  to  read  it,"  continued  the  duchess 
with  dignit}T,  '  '  say  to  him  one  last  word.  You  will  see 
him  at  five  o'clock  ;  he  dines  at  home,  alone,  at  that 
hour:  I  know  this.  Tell  him  he  must  for  sole  answer 
come  and  see  me.  If  three  hours  later,  —  if  at  eight 
o'clock  he  has  not  left  home,  all  will  be  over  ;  the  Duch- 
esse de  Langeais  will  have  left  this  world.    I  shall  not 


Tlie  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


541 


be  dead,  dear,  —  no  ;  but  no  human  power  will  ever  H  ml 
me  on  this  earth.  Come  and  dine  with  me.  Let  me 
have  a  friend  beside  me  in  my  last  agony.  Yes  ;  to- 
night, dear  cousin,  my  life  will  be  decided,  one  way  or 
the  other.  Whichever  way  it  is,  the  future  must  con- 
sume me.  Silence  !  I  can  listen  to  nothing  ;  neither  to 
entreaties  nor  advice.  Come,  let  us  talk,  let  us  laugh," 
she  cried,  holding  out  to  him  a  hand  which  he  kissed. 
"  Let  us  be  like  two  old  philosophers  who  enjoy  life  up 
to  the  moment  of  their  death.  I  will  dress,  I  will  make 
myself  very  coquettish  for  you,  —  you  may  be  the  last 
man  that  sees  the  Duchesse  de  Langeais." 

The  vidame  made  no  reply  ;  he  bowed,  took  the  let- 
ter and  did  his  errand.  He  returned  at  half-past  five 
o'clock  and  found  his  cousin  dressed  with  care,  exqui- 
sitely. The  salon  was  decorated  with  flowers,  as  if  for 
a  fête  ;  the  dinner  was  delicious.  The  duchess  called 
up  her  sparkling  wit  and  all  her  sweet  attractions  for 
the  old  man's  pleasure.  At  first  he  tried  to  treat  all 
these  seductions  as  a  charming  jest  ;  but  from  time  to 
time  the  false  magic  of  her  gayety  grew  dim  ;  he  saw 
her  shiver  with  sudden  terror,  or  listen,  as  if  she  heard 
into  the  depths  of  silence.  If  he  then  said  to  her, 
"  What  is  it?"  she  answered,  "Hush  !  " 

At  seven  o'clock  the  duchess  left  the  room,  but  soon 
returned,  dressed  as  her  waiting-woman  might  have 
dressed  for  a  journey.  She  took  the  arm  of  her  guest, 
asking  him  to  accompany  her.  They  entered  a  hired 
coach,  and  at  a  quarter  to  eight  were  before  the  door  of 
Monsieur  de  Montriveau. 

Armand  all  this  while  was  reading  and  considering 
the  following  letter  ;  — 


542  The  Duchesse  de  Langeais, 


My  Friend,  —  I  have  passed  a  few  moments  in  your 
room  without  your  knowledge.  I  have  brought  back  my  let- 
ters. Oh,  Armand!  from  you  to  me  this  cannot  be  indiffer- 
ence ;  and  hatred  would  act  otherwise.  If  you  love  me,  cease 
this  cruel  comedy.  You  will  kill  me.  Erelong,  when  you 
perceive,  too  late,  how  deeply  I  have  loved  you,  you  will  fall 
into  despair. 

If  I  am  mistaken,  if  you  feel  only  aversion  for  me,  then 
all  hope  is  over:  aversion  means  contempt,  disgust  ;  and  from 
those  feelings  men  make  no  return.  Terrible  as  this  may 
be,  the  thought  of  it  will  comfort  my  coming  woe  ;  you 
will  have  no  regrets.  Regrets!  ah,  my  Armand!  I  fain 
would  think  I  cause  you  none,  —  not  one.  No;  I  will  not 
tell  you  of  the  havoc  within  me. 

I  must  live,  and  cannot  be  your  wife  !  After  giving  myself 
utterly  to  you  in  my  thoughts,  to  whom  must  I  now  give  my- 
self? To  God.  Yes,  the  eyes  which  you  have  loved  for  a 
moment  shall  look  upon  no  other  man:  may  God's  mercy 
close  them  !  I  shall  hear  no  living  voice  of  man  but  thine, 
so  tender  once,  so  cruel  yesterday,  —  yesterday,  for  I  am  still 
in  the  morrow  of  your  vengeance.  May  the  word  of  God 
consume  my  soul,  and  take  it  from  this  earth  !  Between  his 
anger  and  thine,  oh,  my  friend  !  what  is  left  for  me  but 
prayers  and  tears  ? 

You  will  ask  me  why  I  write  to  you.  Do  not  be  angry  if  I 
cling  to  a  last  ray  of  hope  ;  if  I  give  a  last  sigh  towards  the 
happy  life  before  I  leave  it  forever.  My  position  is  ter- 
rible. I  am  calm,  with  the  stillness  that  a  great  resolution 
lends  to  the  soul,  —  the  stillness  left  by  the  departing  echoes  of 
a  storm.  In  that  terrible  adventure  which  first  drew  me  tow- 
ards you,  my  Armand,  you  went  from  the  desert  to  an  oasis, 
led  by  a  faithful  guide.  I  drag  myself  from  the  oasis  to  the 
desert,  driven  forth  by  your  pitiless  hand.  Yet  you  alone,  my 
friend,  can  comprehend  the  pang  with  which  I  look  back- 
ward to  my  days  of  joy  ;  to  you  alone  can  I  tell  my  grief 
without  a  blush.    If  you  forgive  me,  I  shall  be  happy  5  if  you 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais.  543 


are  inexorable,  I  will  expiate  my  wrong-doing  Is  it  not 
natural  that  a  woman  should  wish  to  live  in  the  memory  of 
him  she  loves,  clothed  with  all  high  and  generous  feelings  ? 
Oh,  my  only  dear  one!  suffer  your  handmaid  to  bury  herself 
away  from  sight  in  the  dear  hope  that  you  will  think  her 
noble  and  true!  Your  harshness  has  compelled  me  to  reflect; 
and  since  I  have  loved  you  so  well,  I  have  come  to  think  my- 
self less  guilty  than  you  deem  me.  Listen  to  my  defence  !  I 
owe  it  you:  and  you,  who  are  all  the  world  to  me,  do  you 
not  owe  me  a  moment's  justice? 

I  now  know,  through  my  own  anguish,  how  much  my 
conduct  must  have  made  you  suffer  ;  but  I  was  then  so  igno- 
rant of  love!  You  who  have  known  the  secret  torture,  —  you 
compel  me  to  bear  it  !  During  the  eight  months  we  were 
together,  you  did  not  make  me  love  you.  Why  was  that  2 
I  cannot  tell  you  any  more  than  I  can  tell  you  why  it  is 
that  I  now  love  you.  Yes,  certainly  I  was  flattered  to  be 
the  object  of  such  passionate  affection,  —  to  see  the  ardor  of 
your  eyes;  and  yet  they  left  me  cold  and  without  desires. 
I  was  not  a  woman.  I  knew  nothing,  I  imagined  nothing-, 
of  the  devotion  or  of  the  happiness  of  my  sex  Whom 
shall  I  blame  for  this  ?  Would  you  not  have  despised  me 
if  I  had  feigned  a  love  I  did  not  feel  ?  ïs  it  noble  in  a  wo- 
man to  reward  a  passion  she  does  not  share?  Perhaps 
there  is  no  merit  in  giving  one's  self  up  to  love  when  we 
ardently  desire  it?  Alas,  my  friend  !  I  may  tell  you  now 
that  these  thoughts  came  to  me  when  I  was  so  coquettish 
with  you;  but  you  seemed  to  me  so  noble,  so  lofty,  that  I 
could  not  bear  to  let  you  win  me  out  of  pity.  Ah  !  what 
am  I  writing? 

I  have  taken  back  my  letters.  They  are  burned.  You 
will  never  know  the  love,  the  passion,  the  madness  they 
revealed. 

I  stop.  I  will  be  silent.  Armand,  I  will  say  no  more 
about  my  feelings.  If  my  love,  my  prayers,  cannot  reach 
from  my  soul  to  your  soul,  neither  can  I,  a  woman,  owe  your 


544 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


love  to  pity.  I  must  be  loved  irresistibly,  or  cast  off  ruth* 
lessly.  If  you  refuse  to  read  this  letter,  it  will  be  burned. 
If,  having  read  it,  you  are  not  three  hours  later  my  husband 
—  my  only  husband,  forever  mine  —  I  shall  feel  no  shame  in 
knowing  that  it  is  in  your  hands.  The  pride  of  my  great 
despair  will  protect  me  from  all  sense  of  degradation,  and  my 
end  shall  be  worthy  of  my  love. 

You  yourself,  meeting  me  no  more  in  this  world  though 
I  still  be  living,  —  you  will  not  think  without  a  quiver  of  the 
woman  who  three  short  hours  hence  will  breathe  only  to  fold 
you  forever  in  her  love,  or  else  to  live  on  hopeless,  lifeless, 
yet  faithful,  — faithful,  not  to  mutual  memories,  but  to  feel- 
ings misunderstood  and  cast  away.  The  Duchesse  de  Laval- 
lière wept  for  her  lost  happiness,  her  vanished  power  :  the 
Duchesse  de  Langeais'  sole  happiness  must  be  her  tears,  but 
evermore  she  will  be  a  power  in  your  soul.  Yes  ;  you  will 
regret  me.  I  feel  that  I  was  not  meant  for  this  world,  and 
I  am  grateful  to  you  for  proving  it  to  me. 

Adieu  !  you  cannot  touch  my  axe  :  yours  was  that  of 
the  executioner  ;  mine  is  that  of  God.  Yours  killed  ;  mine 
shall  save  alive.  Your  love  was  mortal;  it  could  not  bear 
disdain  or  ridicule,  —  mine  bears  all  things,  and  cannot 
weaken;  it  lives  immortally.  Ah  !  I  feel  a  dreary  joy  in 
rising  thus  above  you,  —  you  who  felt  yourself  so  great  ; 
in  humbling  you  with  a  calm,  protecting  smile  like  that  of 
the  angels  sitting  at  the  feet  of  God,  who  obtain  the  right 
and  the  power  to  watch  over  men.  You  have  had  passing 
hopes,  desires;  but  the  poor  nun  will  light  your  path  with 
ceaseless  prayers,  and  hold  you  in  the  shelter  of  the  love 
divine. 

I  foresee  your  answer,  Armand;  and  I  bid  you  come  to 
me — in  heaven.  Friend,  strength  and  weakness  are  both 
admitted  there;  both  are  sufferings.  This  thought  quells 
the  anguish  of  my  last  trial.  I  am  so  calm  that  I  should  fear 
I  loved  thee  less  were  it  not  for  thee  that  I  quit  the  world. 

Antoinette. 


Tîie  Duchesse  de  Langeais» 


545 


*'  Dear  vidame,"  said  the  duchess  when  they  reached 
Montriveau's  house,  "  do  me  the  kindness  to  ask  at  the 
door  if  he  is  at  home." 

The  vidame,  obedient  as  a  man  of  the  eighteenth 
century,  got  out  of  the  carriage,  and  presently  returned 
with  a  "  Yes  "  that  made  her  shiver.  She  took  him  by 
the  hand  and  let  him  kiss  her  on  both  cheeks.  Then 
she  begged  him  to  go  away  without  watching  her  or 
seeking  to  protect  her. 

"  But  the  passers-by?"  he  said. 

"  No  one  could  show  me  disrespect,"  she  answered. 

It  was  the  last  word  of  the  woman  of  the  world,  of 
the  duchess.  The  vidame  went  away.  Madame  de 
Langeais  remained  at  the  threshold  of  the  door  wrapped 
in  her  mantle,  waiting  till  the  hour  of  eight.  The  clock 
struck.  The  unhappy  woman  waited  still  ten  minutes 
—  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  Then  she  saw  a  last  humilia- 
tion in  the  delay,  and  hope  forsook  her.  She  could 
not  repress  one  cry.  "  Oh,  my  God!"  she  said,  and 
left  the  fatal  threshold.  It  was  the  first  word  of  the 
Carmelite. 


35 


546  The  Duchesse  de  Langeais, 


XVI. 

Montriveau  had  a  conference  that  evening  with 
several  of  his  friends.  He  urged  them  to  bring  it 
to  a  close  ;  but  his  clock  was  slow,  and  he  only  left  his 
house  to  go  to  the  Hôtel  de  Langeais  at  the  moment 
when  the  duchess,  driven  by  chill  anguish,  was  rushing 
on  foot  through  the  streets  of  Paris.  She  was  weeping 
when  she  reached  the  Boulevard  d'Enfer.  There  for 
the  last  time  she  saw  Paris,  smoking,  noisy,  filled  with 
the  lurid  atmosphere  produced  by  the  street-lamps. 
Then  she  got  into  a  hired  carriage,  and  quitted  the 
great  ciïy,  never  to  enter  it  again. 

When  the  marquis  reached  the  Hôtel  de  Langeais  and 
was  told  that  the  duchess  was  out,  he  thought  himself 
led  into  a  trap,  and  rushed  impetuously  to  the  vidame, 
who  received  him  just  as  he  was  putting  on  his  dressing- 
gown  and  thinking  of  the  happiness  of  his  pretty  cousin. 
Montriveau  gave  him  that  terrible  look  whose  electric 
shock  could  paralyze  both  men  and  women. 

"Monsieur,  have  you  lent  yourself  to  a  cruel  jest?" 
he  cried.  '  '  I  have  just  come  from  the  Hôtel  de  Langeais, 
and  the  servants  say  that  the  duchess  is  out." 

"A  great  misfortune  must  have  happened  through 
some  fault  of  yours,"  answered  the  vidame.  "I  left 
the  duchess  at  your  door  —  " 

"At  what  hour?" 

"  A  quarter  to  eight." 


TJie  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


547 


Montriveau  rushed  home  precipitately,  and  asked  his 
porter  If  de  had  seen  a  lad}'  at  the  door.  "Yes, 
Monsieur,  a  beautiful  lad}'  who  seemed  in  trouble.  She 
was  crying  like  a  Madeleine,  but  without  making  a  noise, 
and  standing  straight  up  like  a  reed.  At  last  she  said 
out  loud,  '  Oh,  my  God  !  '  and  went  away.  It  made 
our  hearts  ache,  my  wife  and  I,  who  were  close  by  with- 
out her  seeing  us." 

The  stern  man  turned  pale,  and  staggered  as  he  heard 
these  words.  He  wrote  a  line  to  Monsieur  de  Ronque- 
rolles,  and  sent  it  instantly  ;  then  he  went  up  to  his 
own  room. 

Towards  midnight  Ronquerolles  came.  "  What  is  the 
matter,  my  dear  friend?  "  he  said,  on  seeing  the  general. 

Montriveau  gave  him  Madame  de  Langeais'  letter. 

44  Well?"  asked  Ronquerolles,  when  he  had  read  it. 

"  She  came  to  my  door  at  eight  o'clock  ;  at  a  quarter 
past  eight  she  had  disappeared.  I  have  lost  her,  and  I 
love  her.  Ah  !  if  my  life  belonged  to  me  I  would  blow 
my  brains  out." 

44  Nonsense  !  "  said  his  friend.  44  Be  calm  ;  a  duchess 
does  not  run  away  like  a  milkmaid.  She  cannot  do 
more  than  ten  miles  an  hour;  we,  all  of  us,  will  do 
twenty.  The  deuce  !  "  he  added.  44  Madame  de  Lan- 
geais is  not  an  ordinary  woman.  We  will,  one  and  all, 
be  on  horseback  early  in  the  morning.  Before  then 
we  shall  find  out  from  the  police  what  road  she  has 
taken.  She  must  have  a  carriage  ;  this  kind  of  angel 
does  not  have  wings.  We  can  know  at  once  whether 
she  has  left  Paris  or  is  hidden  here.  We  shall  find 
her,  of  course.  Besides,  have  we  not  the  telegraph 
to  stop  her,  even  if  we  did  not  follow  her?   You  wilî 


548 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


be  happy.  But,  my  dear  brother,  you  have  committed 
the  error  of  which  all  men  with  your  strength  of  will 
are  more  or  less  guilty.  You  all  judge  of  others  by 
yourselves  ;  you  never  rightly  see  how  far  human 
strength  can  go  without  breaking  under  the  strain. 
Why  did  you  not  consult  me  this  evening?  I  should 
have  said  to  you,  'Be  punctual.'  Early  to-morrow 
morning,  then  !  "  he  added,  grasping  Montriveau's  hand, 
as  he  stood  silent  and  motionless.  "  Sleep  now,  if  you 
can." 

But  every  resource  that  statesmen,  sovereigns,  min- 
isters, bankers,  —  in  fact,  all  human  powers,  —  could 
socially  bring  to  bear,  was  employed  in  vain.  Neither 
Montriveau  nor  his  friends  could  find  the  slightest 
trace  of  the  Duchesse  de  Langeais.  She  was  evidently 
cloistered.  Montriveau  resolved  to  search,  or  cause  to 
be  searched,  every  convent  in  the  world  ;  he  would  have 
the  duchess  though  it  cost  the  lives  and  destruction  of 
a  city. 

To  do  justice  to  this  man's  character,  we  must  state 
that  his  passionate  ardor  rose  day  after  day  with  the 
same  fire,  and  lasted  unslackened  for  five  years.  It  was 
not  till  1829  that  the  Duc  de  Navarreins  learned  by 
chance  that  his  daughter  left  Paris  for  Spain  as  waiting- 
maid  to  Lady  Julia  Hopwood  ;  and  that  she  quitted  the 
latter  at  Cadiz  without  exciting  suspicion  that  Made- 
moiselle Caroline  was  the  illustrious  duchess  whose  dis- 
appearance was  then  the  chief  topic  of  interest  in  the 
great  world. 

The  feelings  with  which  these  lovers  met  at  last,  — 
parted  by  the  iron  grating  of  the  Carmelites,  —  in  the 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais.  549 


presence  of  the  Mother  Superior,  can  now  be  under- 
stood in  all  their  intensity  ;  and  their  violence  under 
such  terrible  reawakening  will  doubtless  explain  the 
final  scenes  of  this  history. 

The  Duc  de  Langeais  having  died  in  1824,  his  wife 
was  free.  Antoinette  de  Navarreins  was  living,  wasted 
with  grief,  on  a  rock  in  the  Mediterranean.  But  there 
was  hope, — the  Pope  might  annul  the  vows  of  Sister 
Theresa.  Happiness,  bought  by  so  much  love  and 
anguish,  might  yet  blossom  for  these  lovers.  Such 
thoughts  sent  Montriveau  on  the  wings  of  the  wind 
from  Cadiz  to  Marseilles,  from  Marseilles  to  Paris. 

Some  months  after  his  return  to  France  a  merchant 
brig,  equipped  for  fighting,  left  the  Port  of  Marseilles 
for  the  coast  of  Spain.  She  carried  a  number  of  French 
gentlemen  of  high  distinction,  who  were  smitten  with  a 
passion  for  the  East,  and  were  on  their  wa}T  to  visit 
those  regions.  The  intimate  knowledge  which  Mon 
triveau  possessed  of  the  manners  and  customs  of  that 
fabled  land  made  him  a  most  desirable  companion  for 
such  a  journey,  and  they  invited  him  to  accompan}r 
them.  To  this  he  consented  ;  and  the  Minister  of  War 
made  him  a  Lieutenant-General,  and  placed  him  on  a 
Committee  of  the  Artillery,  that  he  might  be  free  to 
join  this  party  of  pleasure. 

The  brig  dropped  anchor,  twenty-four  hours  out  of 
port,  to  the  north-westward  of  an  island  not  far  from 
the  coast  of  Spain.  The  vessel  had  been  chosen  for  her 
light  draught  and  slender  sparring,  so  that  she  could 
without  danger  run  in  close  to  the  reefs  which,  on  that 
side,  add  to  the  strong  defence  of  the  rocky  coast.  If 
the  fishing  vessels  or  the  inhabitants  of  the  little  town 


550 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


perceived  the  brig  at  her  anchorage,  they  could  scarcely 
feel  anxiet}',  so  inaccessible  was  the  island  on  that  side  : 
moreover,  precautions  were  taken  to  explain  her  pres- 
ence. Before  sighting  the  island,  Montriveau  had  run 
up  the  flag  of  the  United  States.  The  seamen  engaged 
for  the  voyage  were  Americans,  and  could  speak  noth- 
ing but  English.  One  of  Montriveau's  companions  took 
them  all  ashore  to  the  chief  inn  of  the  little  town,  where 
he  kept  them  at  a  degree  of  drunkenness  which  deprived 
them  of  the  free  use  of  their  tongues.  He  himself 
dropped  hints  that  the  brig  was  chartered  to  search  for 
lost  treasure,  —  an  employment  followed  in  the  United 
States  by  a  body  of  men  who  made  it  a  superstition, 
and  whose  exploits  had  been  related  by  the  writers 
of  that  country.  All  this  explained  the  appearance 
of  the  brig  so  near  the  breakers.  The  passengers 
and  ship's  company  were  searching,  said  the  pretended 
boatswain,  for  the  wreck  of  a  galleon,  lost  in  1788, 
with  treasure  brought  from  Mexico.  The  innkeepers 
and  the  authorities  inquired  no  further. 

Armand  and  the  devoted  friends  who  were  helping 
him  in  his  enterprise  had  seen  at  once  that  neither 
force  nor  fraud  could  help  them  to  carry  off  the  duchess 
by  the  town  approach  to  the  convent.  They  resolved, 
with  the  natural  audacity  that  characterized  them,  to 
take  the  bull  by  the  horns,  and  construct  a  path  to  the 
convent  over  the  perpendicular  rocks  which  to  all  other 
eyes  were  inaccessible  :  to  vanquish  nature  as  General 
Lamarque  had  vanquished  it  at  the  assault  on  the  island 
of  Capri.  In  the  present  instance  the  sheer  precipice 
offered  less  foot-hold  than  the  cliffs  of  Capri  had  afforded 
to  Montriveau,  who  had  taken  a  leading  part  in  that 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


551 


amazing  expedition,  and  to  whom  the  nuns  were  far 
more  formidable  antagonists  than  Sir  Hudson  Lowe. 
To  cany  off  the  duchess  with  noise  or  disturbance  of 
an}*  kind  would  have  seemed  disgraceful  to  these  men. 
If  forced  to  open  action  they  might  as  well,  to  their 
minds,  lay  siege  to  the  town  and  the  convent,  and  leave 
no  witness  alive  to  tell  the  tale,  after  the  manner  of 
pirates.  For  them  the  enterprise  had  but  two  aspects  : 
either  some  great  conflagration  and  feat  of  arms  with 
which  all  Europe  might  resound,  and  yet  remain  forever 
ignorant  of  its  cause  ;  or  else  a  mysterious,  silent,  aërial 
abduction  which  the  nuns  should  la}'  to  the  devil  him- 
self in  the  belief  that  he  had  paid  them  a  visit.  This 
last  plan  carried  the  day  in  the  final  council  held  before 
leaving  Paris.  All  preparations  being  made  for  the 
sure  success  of  their  enterprise,  these  daring  men,  sur- 
feited with  the  tame  pleasures  of  society,  looked  for- 
ward to  the  event  with  eager  enjoyment. 

A  species  of  canoe,  made  at  Marseilles  with  the 
utmost  care  from  a  Malay  model,  enabled  them  to  creep 
up  among  the  reefs  to  a  point  where  navigation  be- 
came absolutely  impossible.  Two  cables  of  iron  wire, 
stretched  parallel  for  a  distance  of  some  feet  on  an 
inward  incline,  and  along  which  thpy  slipped  baskets, 
also  made  of  iron  wire,  served  them  for  a  bridge  over 
which,  as  in  China,  they  could  pass  from  rock  to  rock. 
The  reefs  were  thus  connected  together  by  a  series  of 
cables  and  baskets,  which  looked  like  the  webs  that  a 
certain  species  of  spider  weaves  from  branch  to  branch 
of  a  tree, — a  work  of  natural  instinct,  which  the  Chinese, 
born  imitators,  were  the  first,  historically  speaking,  to 
copy.   Neither  the  surging  of  the  sea  nor  the  capricious 


552  The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 

dash  of  the  waves  could  affect  these  frail  constructions. 
The  cables  had  elasticit}*  and  pla}r  enough  to  sway  to 
the  violence  of  the  water  at  a  curvature  long  studied  by 
an  engineer,  the  late  Cachin,  the  immortal  maker  of  the 
port  of  Cherbourg,  who  discovered  the  scientific  line 
which  limits  the  power  of  the  angiy  waves  ;  a  curve 
settled  by  a  law  won  from  the  secrets  of  nature  by  the 
genius  of  observation,  — which  is,  we  may  say,  wellnigh 
the  whole  of  the  genius  of  mankind. 

Montriveau  and  his  companions  were  alone  upon 
the  rocks.  No  eye  of  man  could  reach  them  :  the  best 
glass,  levelled  from  the  deck  of  the  nearest  passing  ves- 
sel could  not  have  shown  the  fine  threads  of  the  iron 
cords  stretched  among  the  reefs,  nor  the  men  themselves 
hidden  by  the  rocks.  After  eleven  da3's'  toil  these  thir- 
teen human  demons  of  will  and  energ}T  reached  the 
foot  of  the  projecting  rock,  which  rose  perpendicularly 
forty  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea,  —  a  cliff  as  difficult 
for  men  to  climb  as  the  smooth  sides  of  a  glass  or  por- 
celain jar  to  a  mouse.  This  solid  mass  of  granite  was 
fortunately  cracked.  A  fissure,  whose  edges  were  two 
straight  lines,  allowed  them  to  drive  in,  at  the  distance 
of  a  foot  apart,  stout  wooden  wedges,  upon  which  these 
bold  workmen  fastened  iron  props.  These  props,  made 
for  the  purpose,  were  finished  at  one  end  with  perfo- 
rated iron  plates,  into  which  the}'  could  slip  steps  made 
of  thin  fir  plank,  which  also  fitted  into  notches  made  in 
a  mast,  the  exact  height  of  the  rock-face,  and  of  which 
the  base  was  securely  fastened  to  the  granite  ledge  be- 
low. With  an  art  worthy  of  these  men  of  action,  one 
of  them,  a  profound  mathematician,  had  calculated  the 
angle  at  which  each  step  should  be  graduated  from  the 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais.  553 


top  to  the  bottom  of  the  mast,  so  as  to  bring  at  its 
exact  middle  the  point  from  which  the  steps  of  the 
upper  half  should  widen,  like  a  fan,  till  they  reached 
the  top  of  the  rock  ;  while  the  steps  of  the  lower  half 
widened  in  like  manner,  only  in  a  reverse  direction,  to 
the  lower  end  of  the  mast.  This  staircase,  of  incredible 
lightness  \'et  perfectly  firm,  cost  twenty-two  days'  work. 
A  phosphorus  match  and  the  ebb  of  a  tide  would  be 
enough  to  obliterate  all  traces  of  it.  Thus  no  revela- 
tion was  possible,  and  no  search  for  the  violators  of  the 
convent  could  be  successful. 

At  the  summit  of  the  great  precipice  was  a  rocky 
platform  surrounded  on  three  sides  by  the  sheer  cliff. 
The  thirteen  unnamed  comrades,  examining  this  rest- 
ing-place with  their  telescopes  by  the  light  of  the  moon, 
were  satisfied  that  from  this  point,  in  spite  of  some 
difficulties,  they  could  easily  reach  the  gardens  of  the 
convent  where  the  trees  were  sufficiently  thick  to  shelter 
them  from  sight  among  the  branches.  There  they  could 
doubtless  come  to  an  ultimate  decision  as  to  the  best 
means  of  seizing  the  nun.  After  all  their  patient  efforts 
they  were  unwilling  to  compromise  the  success  of  their 
enterprise  by  running  any  risk  of  discovery  ;  and  it  was 
therefore  determined  that  they  should  wait  till  after  the 
last  quarter  of  the  moon  before  making  the  final  attempt. 

Montriveau  remained  during  the  last  two  nights  alone 
on  the  granite  platform,  wrapped  in  his  cloak,  and  lying 
on  the  rock.  The  evening  and  the  morning  chants 
wafted  by  the  breeze  filled  him  with  inexpressible  delight. 
He  went  to  the  foot  of  the  convent  wall,  trying  to  hear 
the  notes  of  the  organ  or  distinguish  from  the  volume  of 
sound  one  precious  voice.    But  in  spite  of  the  silence 


554 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


around  him  the  distance  was  too  great  for  any  but  the 
confused  sounds  of  the  music  to  reach  his  ear,  —  mellow 
harmonies  in  which  all  defects  of  execution  were  lost, 
and  from  which  the  pure  thought  of  art  came  forth  and 
filled  the  hearer's  soul,  needing  no  efforts  of  attention 
nor  the  weariness  and  strain  of  listening.  Terrible  yet 
tender  memories  for  Armand,  whose  love  blossomed 
afresh  as  in  its  spring-time  through  the  soft  breezes  of 
this  music,  from  which  his  fancy  caught  aerial  promises 
of  coming  happiness. 

On  the  morning  of  the  last  night,  he  came  down  from 
the  rock  at  dawn,  having  spent  man}'  hours  with  his 
eyes  fixed  on  the  unbarred  window  of  a  cell  looking 
seaward  :  bars  were  not  needed  to  the  cells  that  hung 
above  this  vast  abj^ss.  A  light  had  shone  from  this 
window  throughout  the  night.  An  instinct  of  the  heart, 
which  misleads  as  often  as  it  guides,  cried  to  him,  "  She 
is  there  !  " 

"She  is  there!  to-morrow  she  will  be  mine!"  he 
cried,  mingling  his  joj'ous  thought  with  the  solemn 
tones  of  the  convent  bell  rung  slowly.  Strange  capri- 
ciousness  of  heart  !  He  loved  with  more  of  passion  the 
nun,  worn  out  with  the  griefs  of  love,  wasted  by  tears 
and  prayers  and  fasts  and  vigils,  the  woman  of  twenty- 
nine  who  had  passed  through  many  sorrows,  than  be 
had  loved  the  gay  young  girl,  the  sylph,  the  woman  of 
his  first  adoration.  But  men  of  vigorous  soul  are 
drawn  by  their  own  nature  to  love  the  sublime  expres- 
sions that  noble  grief  or  the  impetuous  flow  of  thought 
imprint  upon  the  face  of  a  woman.  The  beauty  of  her 
sorrow  is  the  most  attaching  of  all  loveliness  to  a  man 
who  feels  within  his  heart  an  inexhaustible  treasure  of 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais.  555 


consolation  for  one  so  tender  in  weakness,  so  strong 
through  feeling.  The  beaut}'  of  color,  of  freshness,  of 
smoothness,  —  the  pretty,  in  short,  is  a  commonplace 
charm  which  attracts  the  common  run  of  men.  Montri- 
veau  was  made  to  adore  a  face  where  love  could  shine 
amid  the  lines  of  grief  and  the  blight  of  melancholy. 
Such  a  lover  brings  to  life  at  the  voice  of  his  all-power- 
ful desires  a  new  being,  throbbing  with  fresh  youth, 
breaking  forth  for  him  alone  from  the  worn  shell  so 
beautiful  to  his  eyes  yet  broken  and  defaced  to  the 
eyes  of  others.  He  possesses  two  women, — one  who 
seems  to  the  world  pale,  discolored,  sad  ;  and  that  other 
woman  within  his  heart  whom  no  eye  sees,  an  angel 
comprehending  the  life  of  the  soul,  beaming  in  all  her 
gloiy  amid  the  solemnities  of  love. 

Before  quitting  his  post  of  vigil  the  general  heard 
faint  harmonies  floating  from  the  window  of  the  lighted 
cell  ;  soft  voices  filled  with  tender  pathos.  When  he 
descended  to  his  friends  stationed  at  the  base  of  the 
rock,  he  told  them  —  in  a  few  words  ringing  with  that 
deep,  restrained  communication  of  feeling,  whose  im- 
posing expression  men  respect  and  comprehend  —  that 
never  in  his  life  had  he  drunk  in  such  infinite  felicity. 

That  evening,  in  the  shadow  of  thick  darkness,  eleven 
devoted  comrades  hoisted  themselves  up  the  precipice, 
each  carrying  his  poniard,  a  supply  of  chocolate,  and 
all  the  tools  necessary  to  burglars.  They  scaled  the 
walls  of  the  cloister  by  means  of  ladders,  manufactured 
and  brought  up  for  that  purpose,  and  then  found  them- 
selves in  the  cemetery  of  the  convent.  Montriveau 
recognized  the  long  vaulted  gallery  he  had  formerly 
passed  through  on  his  way  to  the  convent  parlor  ;  also 


556 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


the  windows  of  that  room.  His  plan  was  at  once 
formed  and  adopted.  To  enter  the  parlor  by  the  win- 
dow which  opened  into  the  part  where  the  nuns  had 
stood  behind  the  grating  ;  to  follow  the  corridor  which 
led  out  of  it  ;  to  read  the  names  inscribed  on  the  lintels 
of  the  doors  ;  to  find  the  cell  of  Sister  Theresa  ;  to  sur- 
prise and  gag  her  while  sleeping  ;  to  bind  and  carry  her 
away,  —  all  this  part  of  the  work  was  an  easy  matter 
for  men  who  joined  the  habits  and  ways  of  the  world 
to  the  audacity  and  expertness  of  galle3T-slaves,  and 
who  were  calmly  indifferent  should  necessity  require 
the  thrust  of  a  weapon  to  secure  silence. 

The  bars  of  the  window  were  sawn  through  in  two 
hours.  Three  men  remained  as  sentries  without  ;  two 
more  watched  in  the  parlor  ;  the  rest,  with  bare  feet, 
stationed  themselves  from  point  to  point  along  the  cor- 
ridors ;  while  Montriveau  advanced,  hidden  behind  a 
young  man,  the  most  dexterous  of  them  all,  Henri  de 
Marsa}*,  who  as  a  matter  of  precaution  was  dressed  in 
the  habit  of  the  Carmelites,  precisely  like  that  worn  in 
this  convent.  The  clock  struck  three  as  Montriveau 
and  the  false  nun  reached  the  dormitories.  They  soon 
made  out  the  position  of  the  cells.  Hearing  no  noise, 
the}7  advanced  cautiously,  reading  by  the  light  of  a 
dark  lantern  the  names  fortunately  engraved  on  the 
doors,  together  with  the  mystical  devices  and  portraits 
of  saints  which  each  nun  on  entering  the  convent  in- 
scribed, like  an  epigraph,  upon  the  new  tale  of  her 
life,  and  in  which  she  often  revealed  the  last  thought 
of  her  past. 

When  they  reached  the  cell  of  Sister  Theresa,  Montri- 
veau read  this  inscription  :  Sub  ■  invocatione  Sanctce 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais, 


557 


Theresœ.  The  motto  was:  Adoremus  in  œternum. 
Suddenly  his  companion  laid  a  hand  upon  his  shoul- 
der and  showed  him  a  bright  light  shining  upon  the 
flagstones  of  the  corridor  through  the  chinks  of  the 
cell  door.  At  this  moment  Monsieur  de  Ronquerolles 
joined  them. 

'  '  The  nuns  are  in  the  church  chanting  the  Office  of 
the  Dead,"  he  said. 

"I  remain  here,"  replied  Montriveau  ;  "fall  back, 
all  of  you,  to  the  parlor,  and  close  the  door  of  this 
corridor." 

He  entered  quickly,  preceded  by  the  pretended  nun, 
who  put  aside  his  veil.  They  then  saw  in  the  ante- 
chamber to  an  inner  cell  the  dead  body  of  the  duchess 
lying  on  the  floor  upon  a  plank  of  her  bed,  and  lighted 
by  two  wax  tapers.  Montriveau  and  de  Marsay  said 
no  word,  uttered  no  cry  ;  but  they  looked  at  each  other. 
Then  the  general  made  a  sign  which  meant,  "  We  will 
carry  her  away." 

"Escape!"  cried  Ronquerolles,  suddenly  entering. 
"The  procession  of  nuns  is  returning;  you  will  be 
seen." 

With  the  magical  rapidity  which  a  passionate  desire 
infuses  into  movement,  the  body  of  the  duchess  was 
carried  to  the  parlor,  passed  through  the  window,  and 
conveyed  to  the  foot  of  the  wall  as  the  abbess  followed 
by  the  nuns  reached  the  cell  to  take  the  body  of  Sister 
Theresa  to  the  chapel.  The  nun  whose  duty  it  was  to 
watch  with  the  dead  had  unscrupulously  entered  the  in- 
ner cell  to  search  for  the  secrets  of  its  occupant.  She 
was  so  intent  upon  this  purpose  that  she  heard  noth- 
ing, and  was  thunderstruck  when  she  came  out  into  the 


558 


The  Duchesse  de  Langeais. 


antechamber  and  found  the  body  gone.  Before  the  aston- 
ished women  thought  of  making  an}'  search,  the  duchess 
had  been  lowered  by  ropes  to  the  foot  of  the  precipice, 
and  the  companions  of  Montriveau  had  destroj'ed  their 
work.  At  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning  no  trace  re- 
mained of  the  stairwa}r  or  the  wire  bridges.  The  body 
of  Sister  Theresa  was  on  board  the  brig,  which  came 
into  port  to  embark  her  men  and  disappeared  during 
the  forenoon. 

Montriveau  remained  in  his  cabin  alone  with  Antoi- 
nette de  Navarreins,  whose  countenance  shone  merci- 
fully upon  him,  resplendent  with  the  sublime  beauty 
which  the  calm  of  death  bestows  at  times  upon  our 
mortal  remains. 

"  Come,"  said  Ronquerolles  to  Montriveau  when  he 
reappeared  on  deck.  44  She  was  a  woman;  now  she 
is  nothing.  Let  us  fasten  a  cannon-ball  to  her  feet, 
and  consign  her  to  the  sea,  and  think  of  her  onry  as 
we  think  of  a  book  read  in  our  childhood." 

44  Yes,"  said  Montriveau,  44 for  it  is  but  a  poem." 

44  Ah!  that  is  right,"  said  Ronquerolles.  44  Have 
passions  if  }tou  will  ;  but  as  for  love,  we  should  know 
where  to  place  it.  It  is  only  the  last  love  of  a  woman 
that  can  satisfy  the  first  love  of  a  man." 


THE  END* 


58  01073 


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